Raising Mia
by WildMeiLing
Summary: The end of the honeymoon period of Queen Amelia's reign coincides with the news of her upcoming high school reunion, and old insecurities resurface. A little serious, some fun, and appearances from lots of characters. A request from Quoth the Night.
1. Chapter 1

_This is for_ Quoth the Night _, who wanted to see a high school reunion story. Something that takes place after Mia has been Queen, has been married to Nicholas, and has been in the spotlight long enough to garner the interest of gossips and tabloids. I took those ideas and wove them together with an idea I'd already had - but didn't know what to do with - for a post-PD2 story. QtN, I do hope I have done your idea justice; and to everyone else, I hope you enjoy reading along as well._

 _This is very different for me, and although I know where it's going, updates might come a bit slowly. However, I promise to keep working on it._

 _I don't own any of these characters, but you all probably knew that already._

* * *

"When are you going to get with the times, my friend?"

Joe eyed his grandson-in-law over the top of his newspaper and across the breakfast table. "I have _The Times_ right here." He smiled. "The _Genovian Times_."

"Ha ha," Nicholas intoned. "I mean, one of these." He held up his phone. "I'll bet I'm reading the same thing you are, except the more current version of it."

"I am more interested in the factual version than the current one. Besides, I spent most of my adult life attached to and dependent upon all kinds of electronic devices. I am done with them now. At least, as much as is reasonably possible."

"But I have the world at my fingertips!"

Joe shifted his eyes to his wife and let go of one side of the paper to reach out to her. "So have I," he said smoothly, curling his fingers around her hand and bringing it to his lips.

Clarisse smiled at him. "All this charm oozing around the breakfast table isn't good for digestion," she chided good-naturedly.

"They say exercise is good for digestion," Joe said, arching his eyebrows suggestively.

" _Mild_ exercise," she pointed out. "An easy walk, perhaps."

"For the more strenuous activities, I think one is advised to wait thirty minutes." He glanced at his watch. "What are you doing thirty minutes from now?"

"Oh, seriously?" Mia protested, putting her hands over her oblivious son's ears. She glared at Joe as Nicholas laughed. "Speaking of things that are not good for digestion – ew!" Then she shot a look at her husband. "And you! Not helping!"

"What? What, Mama? What isn't good for digestion?" Gregory twisted around to free himself of her hasty earmuffs and look directly at her.

Nicholas acted surprised. "Why? What did I do? I was merely talking about moving Joe into the twenty-first century. I didn't mention a word about…you know."

"No, but you laughed. You only encourage him when you laugh."

"Laughing keeps the heart young," Gregory declared as he popped out of his chair for the umpteenth time since breakfast had been served. "Do you know who says that?"

"Gregory," Mia sighed. "Please, _please_ sit in your chair." She watched him take an indelicate chomp from a strawberry before bouncing around her to his great-grandfather. "I don't know how your little body digests anything at all, the way you turn eating into an aerobic activity."

With strawberry juice painting his mouth and making his hands sticky, Gregory climbed onto Joe's lap. "Does this count as sitting?"

"As long as you hold still so we can read the real paper," Joe cautioned, his attempt at sounding stern in no way intimidating the boy.

"Grandma says that."

"Says what?" Joe asked, already a conversational step behind.

"That laughing is good for your heart."

"It sounds like her."

"It does?" Mia interjected skeptically.

"Yes," Joe said. "And she's right."

"Of course, she is," Clarisse agreed, eyes twinkling.

"It sounds like very good advice," Nicholas added.

"You know what's good for laughing?" Gregory asked, looking at the nearly picture-less newsprint in front of him with disinterest. "The funnies."

"Also true. However, I'm not there yet," Joe said. "The sections of the newspaper should be read in a certain order."

"I think Joe Romero says that," Nicholas pronounced.

Clarisse rolled her eyes. "Believe me, there is a certain order to just about everything."

"But this is boring," Gregory argued. "Where are the funnies?"

"Right here," Joe said, tickling the boy's side so he squealed in a mixture of delight and exasperation. "You're kind of funny."

"Grampa! Stop! You know I don't like tickles!" He wriggled away and stomped off in protest to his father's lap instead.

"But it's good to laugh! You and Grandma say so!" Joe exclaimed. "Hey, get back here." He frowned as Nicholas and Gregory bent their heads over the phone. "Don't read that trendy news on that silly phone."

"I don't think _anyone_ should be reading _anything_ ," Mia said pointedly. "It's breakfast time."

"Newspapers are part of a balanced breakfast," Joe countered. "Now phones, on the other hand -"

"Hey, we're feeding our minds over here, too," Nicholas said as Gregory's small, nimble fingers swept expertly over the screen.

"Is that so?" Mia leaned over and pressed a button on the side of the phone to turn up the sound. The perky music and cartoon-ish noises of a video game increased in volume until father and son were widening their eyes innocently.

"Um, it's an educational game?" Nicholas tried.

"It sounds like Angry Birds."

"Teaches geometry and analytical thinking?"

"No."

"Can we just finish this level?" Gregory implored.

"No," Mia said again.

"Aww!" the little boy and the big boy responded in unison.

Mia fished for support. "Grandma, aren't you going to banish them?"

Clarisse swallowed her tea in surprise, then gently placed the cup on the saucer. "Banishment seems a bit extreme to me," she admitted. "And technically, that's your decision now."

"Not the _boys_ , the _toys_. And reading material in general." She didn't look at Joe, but he gave her a wounded scowl just the same.

"Well, it's only breakfast, and…" Clarisse trailed off as she read on her granddaughter's face the seriousness with which she regarded the matter.

"Don't you remember princess lessons? You wouldn't even let me put my _elbows_ on the table."

"Oh, well, of course not! Elbows are _never_ acceptable on tables," Clarisse declared while Gregory slid his elbows off the table top as inconspicuously as possible. "In fact," she spoke in what her family called her Queen Coming Out Of Retirement voice, "Mia is right. Everyone needs to put non-food items away right now."

"Thank you, Grandma," Mia said quietly but with feeling.

"Yeah, thanks, Grandma," Nicholas said with playful sarcasm.

"Yeah, fanks," Gregory said, his eyes reflecting the same twinkle as his great-grandmother's just a few minutes before, and his voice mimicking his father's teasing tone. He earned A Look from his mother.

"Alright, alright," Joe chimed in, folding up his paper. "Let's just talk and eat and be social together before the hassles of the day take us our separate ways, hmm?"

"A lovely idea," Clarisse said, casting a grateful glance his way. He caught it, and acknowledged it with a smile and a surreptitious wink. "Does anyone have anything to share?"

For the first time, silence descended upon the family.

"Oh!" Gregory excitedly shot his arm up in the air. "This morning, in the garden, I saw a really big worm. Then, a little later, I saw a bird _eating_ a worm. I fink it might have been the same worm!"

"Nice," Mia murmured with a resigned sigh.

"That is news worth knowing," Joe said with a nod.

"I doubt it was covered in paper or electronic format," Nicholas concurred.

"Pity," Clarisse said, poking at her fruit as though she had lost a small part of her appetite.

"Well, I have news," Nicholas said. "Technically, it's not _my_ news, but still."

"Does it involve Nature and the vicious relationship of predator and prey?" Clarisse asked warily.

"Actually, it sort of does. Mia's high school reunion is coming up."

Suddenly, Mia looked as though she regretted her determination to keep elbows, newspapers, and strawberry-sticky phones off the table. "I hardly think that's newsworthy."

"Sure it is. Ten years! It's a big deal for any alumna, but especially in your situation," Nicholas insisted. "Think of all the people coming back to discuss what they've done in the decade since graduation."

"He has a point," Joe said. "Not many of them will be able to say they helped broker a peace treaty."

"Or restructured the fiscal plan to ensure continued assistance for the orphanage in Pyrus," Clarisse added.

"Or gave a thousand speeches without getting sick," Nicholas tacked on with a wink.

Mia started to say something in the way of a retort, then sighed. "You got me there. I have to admit, that last one has been no small feat."

"Did Mama do all those fings?" Gregory asked.

"She certainly did," Clarisse answered proudly.

"I know somefing else Mama does."

"What does she do?" Joe prompted.

"She's the only one who can make my hair flat," he said with just as much pride as his grandmother. He pointed to the top of his head, where his unruly, dark brown locks were already starting to rebel against the product Mia had expertly applied.

"Also no small feat," Nicholas said.

Clarisse chuckled. "Mia's father had the same problem when he was five years old. He did eventually grow out of it."

"I remember," Joe reminisced. "Just in time for senior portraits, I believe."

"At least, we know there's hope." Mia smiled at her son and touched his cheek.

"I told her we should go," Nicholas interjected casually.

Mia, who had finally been coming out of the testy mood she had been in, straightened up in her chair. "Absolutely not."

"Why not? We'll be there anyhow to visit your mother and Patrick and Trevor."

"We will?" Gregory's eyes lit up. "When are we going to see Trevor? Tomorrow?"

"No, not tomorrow," Mia said.

"The day after tomorrow?"

"We're going in June."

"Oh." Gregory was quiet for a few moments – a long time for him – as the grown-ups watched the wheels turning in his head. "Is that next week?"

"In about a month," Joe told him. "In fact, I am meeting with Shades later this afternoon to discuss security for the trip."

Clarisse picked up her tea and half-hid her face behind it. "So kind of you to help while Shades is still learning the ropes in his new role as Head of Security," she said lightly.

"Yes, it's only been – what? – seven years now?" Nicholas said, partially shielding his own face with a slice of toast.

Joe glared at each of them in turn. "You're both very funny."

"Do you really fink so?" Gregory asked. "Because you're not laughing."

"You noticed that, eh?"

"I notice everyfing," Gregory assured Joe emphatically.

"Attending the reunion is completely out of the question," Mia said, redirecting the subject only for the sake of shutting it down once and for all.

"Is it?" Clarisse asked.

Mia stared across the table at her in shock. "Um, yes. Yes, it is."

"Alright, I was only asking."

"But why?" Nicholas persisted.

"Because it is, and for _so many_ reasons."

"Name one," he challenged.

Mia took a deep breath. "Well, there's… I mean, there's the fact that… It's just…" She turned pleading eyes toward her grandmother for the second time that morning. "Grandma?"

But it was Joe who answered. "Security nightmare."

Mia pounced on it. "See? Security nightmare."

Nicholas was undeterred. "So was going to the outdoor winter festival last year so Gregory could get his picture taken with Santa, but you had no qualms about putting the security team on that."

Joe shook his head. "All those unidentifiable people in elf costumes..." He shuddered.

"I heard some nights, Shades still wakes up in a cold sweat," Nicholas told her.

"They weren't costumes," Gregory corrected. "That's what elves wear all the time!"

"My mistake, young prince," Joe said somberly. Then to Mia: "I vote for inviting Santa and his illustrious staff to the palace this year."

"Joe," Mia said, eyeing him significantly as Gregory gasped in delightful anticipation. "Santa doesn't come to little kids' homes until Christmas Eve. Remember?"

"Oh, of course," Joe said, a little alarmed at his faux pas. "I'd forgotten."

"That's true," Clarisse agreed. "Besides, part of the fun of it is going out and participating in all the festivities."

"I take it," Nicholas said to Joe, "it wasn't any easier being Clarisse's Head of Security."

"I was never bored, Nicholas."

"Alright, enough, you two," Clarisse reprimanded.

"And enough of the reunion," Mia stated firmly.

Nicholas gave it one more attempt. "But just consider –"

"No!"

The answer came out sharply, startling everyone. Gregory's eyes grew big and his chin trembled. Nicholas felt the tension in Gregory's body, and wrapped reassuring arms around him.

Mia was a little wide-eyed and tremulous herself. "I'm sorry, it's just…" She pushed back from the table and tossed her napkin on her plate. "Please, excuse me."

They all watched with concern as Mia bolted from her grandparents' suite. She was likely heading for her office, the place she retreated to more and more as her laidback, sunshine-y disposition was slowly chipped away by something she had yet to confide in anyone else, including her husband.

"Is Mama mad?"

"No, darling," Clarisse cooed to her one and only great-grandchild. "She's just under a lot of pressure."

"From what?"

"From life," Nicholas said heavily.

"It's not an easy job your mother has," Joe told him. "Not just anyone can do it." He reached for Clarisse again, this time to rest his hand on her shoulder and let his fingers caress her back. "It takes a very special person."

"Like Mama," Gregory stated confidently.

"Yes, and like your great-grandmother before her." Joe caught Clarisse's eye, and received a sad smile.

Nicholas patted Gregory's legs. "Why don't you hop up, little man? Let me go check on your mother."

"Can I come, too?" his son asked eagerly.

Joe gave Clarisse's shoulder a squeeze before returning his attention to Gregory. "I have an idea. Why don't you and I go on an adventure?"

"Really?" Gregory asked eagerly, not only resting his elbows on the table but leaning his full weight on them. "I fought you had to meet with Shades."

Nicholas gave a grateful nod to Joe before slipping unnoticed from the room.

"I do, but not until much later. Where should we go this morning?"

"Anywhere!" His enthusiasm waned as the memory of something entered his head. "Oh, but Mama said I had to stay away from the old boathouse because it's dusty and full of sharp, rusty fings. And the kitchen because I can't keep my fingers out of whatever the culinary people are making. And the creek because I fall in on purpose too often."

"Not the creek? But it looks like such a great day for catching minnows!"

"I know!"

Joe crooked his finger at the little boy, who hastened around to hear what secret intrigue his great-grandfather was undoubtedly going to propose.

"How about we go to the creek, and we don't tell your mother?"

"Joseph!" Clarisse admonished.

"What?"

Gregory appeared to not notice his great-grandmother's objection. "I won't tell! I'll go get my bucket and my net!" He was running then, as fast as his five-year old legs could take him, which was pretty fast. He skidded to a halt and spun around. "I almost forgot! I'll need my explorer notebook, too. And a crayon to draw what we find!"

"Don't forget your binoculars."

"Okay!" He was running again, and as he rounded through the doorway, he called over his shoulder, "And don't _you_ forget the bird identity guide!"

"I won't," Joe promised. He stared after the boy for a minute, a little star-struck, before feeling the heat of his wife's gaze on him. "What?"

"If Mia said he's not supposed to go to the creek –"

"He's a kid! A creek is the perfect place for a kid to spend his summer." He stood up and kissed her forehead. "Besides, we have a bath tub in our suite. We'll get a change of clothes for him and Mia will never know."

"She will. First of all, they'll be different clothes. Secondly, we can't get his hair to stay flat, and it gets worse when it's clean."

Joe grinned. "That's true. The cowlick is a giveaway."

"She's just so on edge anymore. I wish she would tell someone what's bothering her. In the meantime, I hate to antagonize her."

"I know." He stood next to her, looking down at her with love and solicitude. "And I promise to try and keep him in pristine condition," he said seriously.

She bit her lip and looked up at him. "She will be alright, won't she?"

"She will."

"Do you think –"

"Don't speculate," he cautioned. "You'll only plague yourself with all the worst case scenarios, and it might turn out to be something quite small. Or at least, easily fixed."

She nodded. "You're right."

"Naturally." He ignored her withering look, pulling her out of her chair and into his arms. "How much time do you think it will take Gregory to gather up all those 'fings'?"

Before she could offer an estimate, Joe was kissing her. They sank slowly into the warmth of their fortifying love for all of about fifteen seconds, when the mood was broken by the sound of hyperactive feet running back to their suite. They drew apart and grinned at each other.

"I would say about that much time," Clarisse said.

"Then I have the meeting with Shades –" Joe added, the hurried footsteps getting louder.

"And then your audience with Mia so she can rebuke you for defying her orders –"

"And then our dinner with the Prime Minister and his wife. When will I see you alone again?" he said with a hint of a pout.

Gregory burst into the room, his arms full of things no self-respecting explorer would be without. "Here I am!"

"So you are!" Joe agreed, releasing his hold on his wife. "Shall we?"

"Bye, Grandma!" cried the happy boy on his way to the creek.

"Bye, darling! Have fun! And be careful!"

"Now, Grandma, which is it?" Joe teased. "You want us to have fun or to be careful?"

"Very funny."

"Grandma, you're not laughing either."

"That's alright. Your great-grandfather will. He thinks he's funny enough for the both of us."

They were almost out of sight, Gregory's chatter echoing through the hall ahead of Joe, when Clarisse called out.

"Joseph?"

He stopped in the doorway and turned. "My Queen?"

She walked over to the end table by the sofa and pulled out the drawer to retrieve the laminated birdwatching guide. "You forgot this." She carried it to him and tucked it into his shirt pocket. Then she straightened his collar and let her fingers trail down the buttons of his shirt. "I'm free for lunch," she whispered huskily.

He groaned a little, both at her touch and at the implication of her words. "What a coincidence. So am I."

"Grandpa? Where'd you go?" came a voice from an impressive distance down the hall.

"Right here." Joe gave Clarisse one more quick kiss, then she nudged him out the door.

In the sudden quiet, she tried desperately to keep before her the image of her great-grandson, laden with tools and toys and an uncorrupted zest for life, to stave off the worries she had for her granddaughter.

 _to be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks very much for reading along! My first attempt at pinning down Nicholas...I hope my interpretation meshes with yours._

 _And thanks, friend, for helping me keep royal titles and relationships straight. I think I've got it sorted out now._ :)

* * *

Mia did not go to her office. Instead, she took refuge in the rose garden. She found that, even when trailed by Shades, being outside made her feel freer - her movements, her thoughts, even her breathing. Now, surrounded by the beautifully tended fruits of the collaboration between her grandmother and the team of gardeners, Mia wondered again if Clarisse's passion for flowers didn't begin as a need to escape the palace walls.

She walked briskly, and vaguely hoped she appeared efficient rather than in a hurry to run away. Shades had the decency to hang back, and when she had put enough distance between herself and the news business, she slowed to a thoughtful amble.

The News. She shuddered.

To say she and The News had gotten off on the wrong foot would have been an understatement. Her first dealings with reporters in San Francisco had been mortifying, and her insecure fifteen year-old self had never quite gotten over it.

Now she was used to being news, if not always entirely comfortable with it. Even the not-so-flattering news. She laughed off a bad camera angle. She pretended to laugh off speculation about her husband's fidelity. She managed to crack a smile when gossip columnists tried to figure out if a new suit had been cut to disguise a burgeoning baby bump.

Mia accepted that her destiny was intricately entwined with that of The News. They had had their ups and downs, but lately, it seemed there were way fewer ups; and Mia was feeling less like the Genovian Queen who had successfully navigated the first few years of her reign, and more like the awkward teenager who had stood in the flash of the paparazzi's cameras like a deer caught in headlights.

Her inexperience with the spotlight and her lack of understanding of human nature had caused her to be blindsided by the press during her royal debut. Those things had been remedied, but now there were factors entirely beyond her control that led to negative reporting. Gossip, a late spring that had delayed the pear trees' blossoming, other unfortunate economic factors, and more gossip - all these things were played up by The News to a public that, despite their approval and admiration of their Queen, were just as eager as any populace for a scapegoat and a juicy story.

Everyone wanted to blame someone for their troubles, and Mia was a conveniently visible target for the jittery pear farmers, the frustrated lace industry (Lace was _so_ last season.), stubborn parliamentarians, and that stupid "Eggs With Elsie" show. It felt as though the entire nation were waiting for her to fail.

It was just like being in high school all over again, only on a way bigger scale.

And her husband wanted her to go back to the time in her life that symbolized everything she had worked so hard to overcome. Of course, Nicholas wouldn't understand. He was the epitome of cool and sophisticated, the antithesis of everything she had been.

 _He would have been the Josh to your Michael_ , insisted the slightly neurotic girl with the clunky shoes. _He wouldn't have seen you when you were invisible_.

Recently, the old Mia had been popping up more often to offer helpful warnings like that, lest the current version of herself, confident and elegant, should forget who she had been. Who, deep down inside, she was afraid she still was.

She plopped onto a bench, propped her elbows on her knees, and dropped her head into her hands.

Just like high school, except it was all so much more personal now. There was no place to hide, no part of her family life that couldn't be exploited for political reasons or invaded for entertainment purposes. Even the most intimate aspects of her marriage were valid talking points.

She pressed her hands harder to her face, hoping to find solace in the blackness and escape the cold that crept out of her heart and spread across her chest.

"Mia."

She pretended she hadn't heard her husband say her name softly while she thought about whether she wanted to talk to him.

"Mia, please."

She still didn't look up, but she scooted a few inches to one side of the bench to indicate he was welcome to join her. She felt him next to her, and his warmth began to work on a tiny portion of the ice in her heart.

"We don't have to talk about anything in particular, but it would make me feel better if you at least sat up. I'm afraid you're going to squish your lovely eyes."

She laughed because it seemed a ridiculous thing to say. She straightened up, then leaned to the side so her head could rest on his shoulder. Her eyes were still closed, but she knew exactly how to sway in order for her head to find its place in the crook of his neck. She felt his arms wrap around her, and Adolescent Mia retreated a bit in the secure reality of him.

"Whatever this is, I know it's bigger than table manners. And you've been keeping it to yourself long enough."

He was right. She was tired of snapping at her loved ones. She was tired of feeling lonely, with no one but her panicky past self for company.

Her emotions had moved her to a place beyond tears, but they still strained her voice. "It's everything," she rasped.

"You know," he began, referring to their inside joke with a sigh of mock exasperation, "if you had just given up the throne to me, _I_ would be the one sitting hunched over on the bench, humming 'Catch A Falling Star.'"

She finally opened her eyes and looked at him. "Was I? I was not. Was I? You're so lying to me."

"I'm not. You were, in fact, humming, which is how I knew you were trying to put up your invisibility shield. Then you stopped humming. That's when I got worried." He frowned, disappointed with himself that there was some part of her he couldn't understand. "I don't know what it means when you stop humming. What were you thinking about then?"

"I guess… I don't know." She was too preoccupied to form an answer.

Because he had just proven the gawky, clueless pre-princess Mia wrong. Her husband saw her all the time. She couldn't hide from him even if she wanted to.

Sometimes she forgot how well he knew her, the little random details she had shared over the years and the things he had figured out simply by wanting to know her as completely as possible. Where she had once shied away from social interaction, his inquisitive nature and attentiveness drew him to people. To all people, not just women, although these qualities had fueled his reputation as a player during his bachelor years and, on occasion, during their marriage.

Well, that, and the fact that he had been a shameless flirt.

But Mia had always been his favorite character study. He knew her better than anyone else ever had, with the possible exception of Lilly.

She was suddenly overwhelmed by his desire to spend the rest of his life learning everything there was to know about her, and by his knack for breaking down her walls and making her cry. She bit her lip against the tremor caused by long-absent tears.

Seeing her struggle, he slid off the bench and moved around so he was kneeling before her, and he took her hands in his. "Mia."

It was a special talent he had. Nicholas wasn't one for endearments, but he could say her name as though nothing in the world could possibly give him greater happiness. If she hadn't been a queen, she would have felt like one.

"Nobody likes me," she said in a small voice.

"Everyone likes you. What's not to like?"

"They blame me for everything."

"You're in charge. The person in charge always gets blamed."

She gave a weak smile. "Are you still interested in -"

"No," he said emphatically. "Being king sounds great when you're not actually king. No, forget it. We're not switching."

"It's way more fun than it looks."

"Oh yes, it looks like _loads_ of fun," he replied, his words steeped in sarcasm.

"But you would look so lovely on a postage stamp."

"Nice try."

"I can't go back," she whispered.

"Mia, you have to go back. You're the Queen, as we've already established. Gregory will miss you soon. And it looks like it might rain later."

"I mean, to high school. I can't go back to high school."

He studied her carefully before answering. "Alright. So don't go back."

"It's just that I was kind of miserable there. And almost nobody liked me there either. I feel like everyone is waiting for me to fail."

"If any of your classmates thinks you have failed in life, they've been living under a rock for the past ten years."

She shook her head. "I mean, in Genovia. I think everyone is waiting for me to fail." Talking helped, and her old nervous habit of speaking too quickly began to kick in. "My approval rating is at an all-time low They are waiting for me to fail - me! The Queen who was raised as an American commoner and had to learn everything so late in the game And now I have my own child to raise Only I didn't have a royal upbringing So I don't have a clue how to raise a child as a future monarch And the pear farmers are struggling and no one is wearing lace these days and I don't feel like the confident Mia who showed up just a few years ago Instead I feel like the old Mia The insecure Mia The Mia I've known most of my life! And they're all waiting for me to fall on my face," she finished, taking a breath. Then with a wince, "Literally and figuratively. Just like in high school."

He shifted his gaze to her hands and swept his thumbs across them reassuringly. She watched him process her frantic monologue while he gave her a chance to catch her breath.

"Those are a lot of things to be worried about."

"Yes." She started to say more, but decided it was better to clamp her mouth down on the words.

He looked back up at her and began an impressive litany of rebuttals. "Your upbringing is a source of fascination, and most Genovians are grateful for your unique combination of royal habits and down-to-earth nature. You are already raising your son - _we_ are raising our son - and I think we're doing a fantastic job, if I do say so myself. If you're worried about whether our child will be lacking in regal qualities with your grandmother around, then - Wait." His eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Have you met your grandmother?"

She chuckled. "Yeah, I guess it's inevitable some of that will rub off on him."

"Absolutely," he confirmed before picking up where he left off. "Farmers are a tough breed. They know they're at the mercy of the elements, and they've learned to be resilient. Fashion trends always come back around, even the ones that shouldn't. Who you are now is not a different person from whoever you were as an adolescent. You simply grew into the strong, remarkable woman you were born to be. And you're more graceful with each passing year. You rarely even stumble. So if they were waiting for you to fall - or fail - in high school or anywhere else, I think we can safely say that you showed them."

"I did?" she asked.

"No. Try again."

"I did," she stated, almost sounding like she meant it.

"Yes, you did. I think you would be safe to attend the reunion. If -" he hurried to add before she could object, "- you wanted to." He paused and gave the appearance of pondering something of great importance. "Unless there's a chance there might be chickens?"

She made a face at him. "I doubt it would be likely I'd run into livestock. Am I ever going to live that down?"

"No," he said with a charming smirk - Really, how did he even make smirks charming? - before turning serious again. "Now," he said, his eyes boring into hers, "what didn't we cover?"

"I think you pretty much addressed everything," she said, knowing full well she wasn't fooling him. She would have been twirling her hair by now had her hands not been so firmly clasped by his.

"I addressed the things you mentioned. What are you not telling me?"

His hypnotic solicitude drew out more than she was willing to share. More than he would want to hear. She sighed. "They think I've already failed…as a wife. They think our marriage is a failure."

His jaw tightened. She knew how much that caused him pain. How much it hurt him when Elsie delightedly reminded her viewers of his former reputation as a ladies' man, or when pictures of innocent interactions with women had captions asking whether a leopard could change his spots. "I have been faithful to you," he said, his voice low and his eyes still on hers.

"I know. But they don't. They think I can't keep your interest."

"Then they don't know you. Or me."

"They think it's why we don't have another child," she whispered.

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place for him then. He stood, pulling her with him and taking her into his arms. He held her as close as humanly possible. "It's alright."

"It's _not_ alright," she sobbed, unable to keep the tears from coming for another second. "What's wrong with me?"

The question was barely past her lips before he was answering it. "Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you. We have one beautiful child, and if another is meant to be, he or she will come to us at the right time."

"But we've tried and tried!"

"The right time," he repeated. "Timing is everything with these things. You know that."

"I've been so busy lately. Maybe we just keep missing the right time." She didn't sound convinced by her own explanation.

"It's entirely possible."

"For five YEARS?"

"Yes. It's possible. Even for five years," he said, rubbing her back soothingly.

She tried out another reason. "I _have_ been under a lot of stress. Maybe I'm too stressed."

"Gosh, I wonder why. I mean, I know you're ruling a country, but it _is_ a small one."

She sputtered out a tearful laugh in spite of herself. "That's true." The laugh didn't last though, and heartache won out. "They keep waiting for another heir. But I don't want another heir. I want another child."

Nicholas eased her away so he could look at her again. His eyes were vibrant with moisture and a formidable intensity. When he spoke, all traces of his characteristically droll humor had dissipated.

"To hell with them," he spat. "To hell with people who want to speculate about our marriage and our family. I love you and you love me and we love Gregory. And we may not always be happy and life might not always go smoothly, but as your prince consort, I will always be in your corner. And as your husband, you will always have every bit of me. Mind, body, and soul - I will always be yours and yours alone."

For just that moment, there was nothing left - no more tears, no more words, no more doubts. No more multiple Mias. She threw her arms around him and he caught her up in a pain-numbing kiss, and then even the rest of the world fell away.

At least, for the moment.

 _to be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

_Wow. I have never taken so long to update a story before. I do apologize. I thank you for your patience, for all the reviews, for the favorites and follows. If you're reading along quietly, I thank you for being here. I don't know if this chapter will have been worth the wait, but at least it's long! I worked in quite a few direct and indirect quotes. In other words, the characters aren't mine, and neither are the lines you've heard in the movies._

 _I'm shifting the point of view, but all the same characters are here. Please excuse Mia, she's not herself today. She's got a lot to deal with, but she's coming around._

* * *

Clarisse was finally somewhat relaxed. Of course, no one would have thought she hadn't been. Even after all these years of official retirement, she still had it: the ability to project a calm and pleasant demeanor regardless of what she was feeling inside.

It was a talent useful for hiding the fact that she wasn't always completely present anymore. As the years of Mia's reign slipped by, Clarisse found herself drawn to comforting thoughts of marriage and family and friends, of the exploits of her great-grandson, of leisurely meetings with the groundskeepers, of no-strings-attached charity work; much more than to the obligatory participation in the seedy games of politics' darker side.

Like this tea, for example.

Not just tea. It looked like something innocent enough. This was tea with the snooty wives of obnoxious parliamentarians. There weren't enough female members yet to arrange tea with husbands. Inviting the husbands to tea - somehow that didn't sound right. Although Charlotte's husband was a wonderful conversationalist... She suppressed a sigh, while suddenly missing Charlotte and simultaneously voicing her agreement that something simply _had_ to be done to bolster the sagging lace industry.

All things considered, the morning had improved. Combining her Queen's sense with her Grandmother's sense, she could see that Mia, who had herself nearly perfected the art of masking inner turmoil, wasn't having to put much effort into pretending to be interested in the superficial prattle of the titled women they were entertaining; and it was that assurance which had finally caused her to relax.

Mia had returned in time for this late morning event hand-in-hand with the Prince Consort. Clarisse had always liked Nicholas, despite her desire to loathe him for Mia's sake and for his weakness in the face of his uncle's vicious scheming. It wasn't long before she observed that Mia also liked him in spite of _her_ self; and when Nicholas finally stood up and revealed the potential strength of his true character, Clarisse's relief had been immense. Joseph had taken more time to come around, which was just fine with Clarisse. Although she was at peace with the obvious connection between the two, she was first and foremost a grandmother. Likable or not, Nicholas's sins against their girl had been grievous ones, and Clarisse didn't think it was such a bad thing to let Joseph put a little fear into the young man.

After taking their time, Mia and Nicholas had become husband and wife the way everyone should: on their own terms. They were best friends. Fond of each (most of the time), but very much in love. Not in the fairy-tale way Mia had longed for prior to their official courtship. That kind of love was attractive but fragile, and designed to withstand only the happiest of endings. What existed between them had burst forth easily enough with all the fireworks and amusing plot twists any romantically inclined girl could dream up. But as the years went by, the roller coaster ride that was the journey of married life had only served to make their love stronger. It was a great credit to them that they navigated the journey in the unforgiving glare of the public spotlight.

Life was far from perfect, but the extended royal family was one whose members loved and argued and cooperated and played and drove each other crazy. It was all _so_ much better than any fairy tale.

Well, except for this boring tea party. Clarisse thought of Joseph and their "lunch" plans, and tamped down another sigh.

Conversation and tea flowed slowly, but charmingly, and Clarisse couldn't help but smile at the memory of fifteen-year old Mia in the garden on that fateful afternoon, obliviously clanking a silver spoon against a fine china teacup. Mia had been a shock to Clarisse, and not just because of her deplorable posture. The jolting revelation had involved so much more than all the work it would clearly take to turn the blatantly American commoner into the Genovian princess she actually was.

The moment she laid eyes on her granddaughter, she saw a teenaged girl version of Philippe living the beautifully, blessedly normal life a part of him had always dreamed of. And Clarisse was there to ruin it all.

She suspected Mia regarded her younger self with a certain amount of fear and contempt, but Clarisse treasured the awkward girl in her school uniform, hiding behind untamed hair and bushman eyebrows. She was too young then, too desperate to be invisible, to even know how to begin to search for her authentic self. But it was there. Clarisse could see Philippe's spirit - her own spirit - alive and well within her, waiting to be acknowledged...

 _Damn!_ She was slipping after all. Lady Porcher had asked her a parting question, and Clarisse had no idea what it was. Luckily, Mia had become rather well-versed in reading her grandmother, and realizing she had been far adrift of the drawing room, the young Queen stepped in smoothly to provide the answer. Clarisse smiled her covert thanks, and Mia winked a, "Hey, no problem," as all the women rose to their feet. They were an idyllic tableau of genteel, pastel-clad aristocracy, moving gracefully as their visit wound down to an appropriately bland ending.

Then suddenly, things stopped being boring.

"Mama! Mama! Mamaaaaaa!"

 _Oh, dear Lord_. Clarisse glanced at Mia, whose smile had frozen into place as she braced herself for whatever fate was currently hurtling down the hall and toward the drawing room in the form of a five-year old juggernaut.

Creek. Nets. Minnows. Joseph.

Clarisse closed her eyes in resignation as she heard at least three more pairs of feet scrambling after the young prince. _Joseph_. Whatever had happened, she knew then that not only had her husband failed to keep the boy out of trouble, they were bringing it all back with them.

 _He falls in on purpose too often_. At least one person was making a squishy sound as he ran, and she heard the tell-tale squeak of rubber soles slipping on wet marble floors.

Mia moved to the doorway just as Gregory rounded into the room.

The collision seemed to happen in slow motion. Clarisse opened her eyes just in time to see the mucky prince crash into his mother's pale mint green skirt with a _splat_ , upending the bucket of creek water and minnows. Gregory lost his balance and Mia reached out to steady him. Silence dropped down on the group as the Queen toppled backward under the squirmy, soggy weight of the Crown Prince, water splashing and tiny fish flying into the air.

A footman, three maids, and Joseph, his trousers soaked up to the knees, all appeared at once, bumping into each other as they crowded into the doorway.

Everything became still, and impossibly, even quieter - before the guests and the staff all began moving at once.

Mia and Gregory's eyes were locked together as they lay on the floor. Clarisse and Joseph looked everywhere but at each other. She was too mad to see him right now. He was too ashamed to let her.

A chorus of _Your Majestys_ jostled around them in different accents and varying degrees of urgency, but her great-grandson's whispering cut through it all and straight to where she stood.

"Mama, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The staff quickly righted the two slimy royals. Lady Porcher and the two Duchesses hovered nearby with good intentions and fluttery hand motions, but were obviously concerned about not touching dirty things or people.

"Oh, Your Majesty, you have -" Lady Porcher gasped and the Duchesses jumped back with delicate shrieks. "I _do_ believe there is a small fish in your hair!"

Mia's eyes widened as one of the maids reached out to pluck a very distressed minnow from the Queen's hair. "No!" the flustered maid declared loudly as she stooped to drop the minnow in the bucket, trying to turn the motion into a curtsy. "No more fish. Her Majesty's hair is lovely, and there are no fish in it."

Lady Porcher quickly covered her mouth, but not before the beginning of a chuckle had escaped. The Duchesses looked at each other, then turned away, each of them hoping to not be affected by the smiles twitching about the other's lips.

Laughing was an entirely understandable reaction to this situation, but as the Queen was still in the picture, it was absolutely the wrong one. The time had come to save them all from themselves.

" _Thank you_ for being here today," Clarisse said in an unperturbed, sing-song voice as she made long but lithe strides toward the entrance of the room, sweeping her arm out in front of her to indicate they should all begin moving forward.

"Yes, _thank you_ ," Mia added. How elegant she was even in these circumstances, how level and serene she kept her voice, how gracious and warm her sentiments were. Clarisse detected a hint of awe in their guests who were, after all, professionals in the art of not laughing when one wanted to.

They curtseyed and fawned - not too much, just enough - and offered their thanks for such a lovely time. They exclaimed delightedly over the precious precociousness of little boys. Most importantly, they left, with a trail of flattery in their wake that was slicker than the mud already covering the floor.

The footman departed to escort the ladies.

The maids hastened off to gather cleaning supplies.

It was just the Queen, the Queen Dowager, and two of the boys they loved most in the world. Although, not so much at the moment.

The silence threatened to return. Still using her regal inside voice, Clarisse decided the best thing to do was to move themselves on as well. "Gentlemen? Shall we?"

Mia echoed both the tone and the message of her grandmother. "Yes. Let's."

She took her unusually quiet child by the hand and led the way. Joseph moved aside, looking after them as though he wanted to say far too much to be able to get any of it out coherently.

Clarisse glided to the door after them. As she approached her husband, she caught a whiff of his cologne mixed with earth, water, sunshine, and regret. Except for the regret part, she might have swooned. She paused when she was even with him, and they looked at each other fully for the first time since his less than auspicious appearance.

He cleared his throat.

She lifted her eyebrow.

"About our lunch date," he murmured.

She smiled brightly. "What do you think?"

"No?"

"What was that you said earlier? Something about always being right...?"

He blinked slowly. "Ah. _Now_ you agree with me."

"Yes, well, perhaps just this once."

"I'll try not to get used to it."

"See that you don't."

She chuckled ominously before continuing down the hall.

* * *

In the privacy of the royal apartment, it was still not time to laugh, and Nicholas's expression as they all filed in clearly showed he had immediately figured that out.

The Prince Consort searched the faces of his family members, finally deciding it was safest to address his grandmother-in-law.

"Do I _want_ to know?"

"I don't think so."

"Hm."

Mia let go of Gregory's hand. The gesture had consoled him after the fiasco in the drawing room, but now he braced himself for his mother's wrath. He waited with bated breath for a verbal lashing that did not come. All he received was an anticlimactic:

"We should get you to a bathtub, don't you think?"

As if on cue, Olivia and Priscilla appeared at the door. Their colleagues had obviously prepared them, and they didn't so much as bat an eye at the creek-coated mother and son. "Your Majesty," they said in unison as they curtseyed.

"We thought perhaps we could be of assistance with His Highness," Olivia added.

"Thank you," Mia said, coolly but kindly. Then she spoke to her son. "We will talk," she warned him.

"Okay." He seemed unsure as to whether he should be afraid now or later. Either way, he decided to hedge his bets. He threw his arms around Mia's waist. "Okay," he said again. "I love you, Mama."

She sighed. "I know. I love you, too."

"So much. I love you so much. Later, can I go outside and play nicely where it's just grass? Maybe grass and flowers so I can pick some flowers for you. Flowers are so pretty, and you're really pretty. This dress is still pretty, even with the mud, but I'm finking we can clean it up and it will look as good as new."

Nicholas was in great danger of losing it as he watched his wife's nervous talking habit spill out of their child's mouth. "Gregory. Priscilla and Olivia are waiting," he said, more for his own benefit than Gregory's.

"Okay." Just to cover all his bases, he ran to his father with the intention of hugging him squishily. Nicholas held up his hands in alarm, and Gregory stopped short. "Oh. Right."

Moved by Gregory's crestfallen look, Nicholas tousled his hair affectionately. The boy brightened a little before turning to skip out of the room with Clarisse's maids. He was still talking to them long after he disappeared from view. "Bye! I love you, Papa! I love all of you! You're all my favorites, but I love you most of all, Mama! I promise I'll wash everyfing! Even my hair! I don't like to wash my hair, but I'll wash it! I'll be all squeaky clean and shiny like new! You'll see! I can't wait to pick some flowers just for you! I saw some really pretty ones near the creek..."

Nicholas inspected the hand he had used to touch Gregory's head and wrinkled his nose in mild disgust. He pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping off goo. Clarisse watched him pursue his task with meticulous dedication as he waited for someone else to start talking.

She was not surprised the person was Mia. She was a little surprised at being the first person spoken to.

"Don't say a word about spears in suckling pigs or drunk rich men on fire."

"I wasn't going to."

Joseph couldn't stand it anymore and spoke up, his voice full of a myriad emotions. "Princess, I cannot begin to tell you how -"

She cut him off mercilessly. "And don't you call me 'Princess.' I am not a princess, alright? I am the Queen. My grandmother might be _your_ queen, but I am The Queen. Can you please scrape together enough respect for me to try and remember that every once in a while?"

It was too much. _Princess_ had been Joseph's pet name for Mia almost since the beginning. For a long while, the only times Mia barely winced when she heard the word was when it came from Joseph, who infused it with affection and faith as well as deference. Joseph was one of the steadiest, strongest men Clarisse knew, but Mia had found his soft spot and stabbed it with deadly accuracy.

He struggled to regain his composure, and when he knew he could trust his voice again, he responded quietly. "Of course. As you wish." He ducked his head in a tiny bow and walked past her. Mia started to turn, her fingers splayed as though she would reach for him.

His thoughts coursed through the air around him like tangible things Clarisse could absorb through her senses and feel inside her as her own, and her heart beat with a mosaic of broken pieces.

 _You were never just my Queen. You were the someone I'd never known was missing from my life. The daughter I never had, the granddaughter who had never been possible..._

It was Nicholas who did what Mia couldn't. "Joe," he said, grabbing his elbow to stop him. "Would you mind checking on Gregory?" He jerked his head in the direction the Prince had gone, and his voice lightened to a tease, intending to console Joseph in a way that renewed Clarisse's admiration of him. "After all, you made that mess, you should probably help clean it up."

Joseph's jaw tightened, but he had needed that - not to just run away, but to run after someone. He nodded gratefully at Nicholas. He glanced at Clarisse, asking her questions without saying a word. She answered the same way, raising her hand to cup his cheek. He released a deep breath, clasped her hand in his, and pressed her fingers to his lips.

Then he was off to find the apple of his eye.

"Now. Which one of us should clean up _that_ mess?" Nicholas asked Clarisse.

 _That_ mess. Mia.

Still feeling Joseph's pain as her own, she couldn't help her snippy reply.

"You've already dealt with _that mess_ once today. I suppose it's my turn."

"Fair enough. I'll go help scrub up the Little Creature from the Black Lagoon." He walked over to his wife and stood directly in front of her so she had no choice but to look at him. He spoke when he had her reluctant but full attention.

"I love you."

She responded with an expression that was part death glare, part broken-hearted longing.

"I said I love you."

"I love you," she mumbled, her speech a little shaky.

He leaned in to give her a kiss, then stopped and searched her face for a clean place to put it. Pretending he hadn't found one, he stepped back and stuck out his hand. She regarded it with feelings that obviously could not be put into any words fit for a lady to say.

He darted past her, feigning fear. "Good luck," he called to Clarisse over his shoulder.

He was gone. Clarisse moved to the door and shut it softly. She took a deep breath before turning to her granddaughter.

Mia was already facing her, tears making muddy streaks through the dirt on her cheeks. "I didn't mean to say that."

"I know."

They moved toward each other. Clarisse automatically put out her arms, then winced as Mia fell into them without a thought.

"I didn't mean it!" she said again, burrowing her head into Clarisse's neck.

"Of course, you didn't." Clarisse patted her back gingerly and hoped all the minnows had been removed from her hair.

"Why did I say that?"

"Because you were humiliated. And there is no denying he was a big part of that."

"Tell me we'll laugh about this someday."

"I would, but it would involve telling stories about spears in suckling pigs and sending dessert flying through the air at a state dinner and putting out a fire on a nobleman with an ice bucket."

Mia straightened up. "I can't do this anymore. I can't be Queen and Mia."

"Yes, you can. You've been doing it for years now."

"But it's not working anymore. I can try really hard to be a perfect queen or a perfect wife-mom-granddaughter. I just can't be both."

"I hate to tell you this, but you can't be any of them."

Mia could not have looked more stunned if Clarisse had slapped her. "You don't think..? You think I can't -"

"I think you can't be perfect. No one is perfect. Not queens or prince consorts. Not wives or mothers or five-year olds." She bit her lip, then said as gently as possible, "Not old men who thought they were going to be bachelors their entire lives before falling in love with a married woman and her family."

Mia's tears had thankfully receded for the second time that day, but she still squeezed her eyes shut for a second against the hurt.

"Mia, you expect too much from yourself."

"I just want to be like you."

"Then you're also expecting too much from me."

"I'm not. I watched you. I'm still watching you! You do this so flawlessly."

"I don't, and you know it."

"You look like you do."

"Pretenses are, unfortunately, a great part of this job. Might I venture a theory?"

Clarisse sat on the sofa, then hesitated only a moment before patting the space next to her. Mia started to sit before remembering her muddy state. "Thanks, I think I'll stand."

"You idolize him."

She nodded. "He's always been my hero." Her lips quirked into a little smile. "Remember that time he found me with my baby stuck on The Hill in the rain and got me back to the consulate in time to save Genovia?"

Clarisse's voice delivered the response drily, but her eyes sparkled. "Yes. Funny how that stays in my memory."

"He always came for me. He always believed in me. He was always just as perfect as you." She shoved one hand into her damp hair. "I didn't deserve it."

"You did. But perhaps you're being unfair to him, and expecting too much from him as well. Our heroes don't cease to be worthy of our admiration simply because we discover they're human."

Mia's hand dropped from her head, and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She stood lost in thought for a few long moments. "I notice Gregory brings out the...human in him."

Clarisse laughed. "They are two peas in a pod."

"It's probably a good thing he didn't get here until after Dad and Uncle Pierre were older."

"Probably, although I assure you, they still managed their fair share of mischief."

"So Gregory comes by it honestly?"

"Let's just say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Even royal apples?"

"Even royal ones."

"Because I don't know how to raise a King."

"Then raise your son, Mia. A good man will be a good king. And after all, he has some extraordinary examples to look up to."

Mia gazed directly into Clarisse's eyes. "Yes. Yes, he has." She waited for her meaning to sink in, and knew it had been realized when Clarisse cleared her throat modestly. She spoke again before her grandmother had a chance to fidget and deflect the compliment and the discomfiting emotional fluster she assumed would likely accompany it. "Dad was a good man."

"He was," Clarisse said reverently. Then, with no less love but some frustration: "And a _hand_ ful, let me tell you."

Mia's tone shifted as they went back to Joseph. "He loved Dad, didn't he?"

"He did. And still does. And Pierre, too. You see, Joseph was...never _just_ our Head of Security."

"What about my grandfather? The biological one, I mean."

She smiled. "He had great respect for him, and Rupert liked him very much."

"I'll bet that made things complicated." Mia's hand flew to her mouth. "I mean -"

Clarisse answered bluntly. "In a way, with regard to the feelings Joseph and I had for each other, it did. But it made our choices simpler. Joseph would never have done anything to hurt Rupert, neither the man nor the monarch."

"Nor the husband?" Mia asked cautiously. They had spoken much about Rupert, and lots about Joseph; but they rarely spoke of them together.

"No. He wouldn't have hurt Rupert the Husband either. For all his being human, he's an awfully good man."

"No one else like him," Mia whispered.

"Not one I've ever seen. And I've met a lot of people."

Mia released her arms in order to twirl a lock of hair as she shifted from one foot to the other, and Clarisse was happy to see the fifteen-year old Mia once more.

"Probably he's so great he'll even let me talk to him again?"

"Yes, but he'll probably be clean by then, so if your talk will involve hugs, which you Americans are so fond of doling out, I suggest you think about a shower and some new clothes."

"Oh. Yeah, that might be a good idea." Her eyes flitted to the closed doors, and she bit her lip. Clarisse was pretty sure she wanted to run. Whether it was to Joseph or from him, she couldn't say.

"I promise, you have time for a shower." Clarisse stood up. "Let yourself and Joseph have a little space, hmm?"

Mia sighed. "Okay." Then she stopped fidgeting and took a deep breath. Even splattered in mud and with her hair starting to frizz adorably, she began the successful transition back to grown-up Queen Amelia. Clarisse felt a pang as she watched the little girl disappear, but pride as she saw the return of the woman she had become. "First things first, right?"

"Right." She started to leave, then turned back with her arms wide. "Oh, what the hell. It's not like I couldn't do with a change of clothes myself at this point."

Mia laughed - a wonderful, hearty, full Mia laugh - and held her grandmother tightly. "Thank you."

"For the hug or for being practically perfect in every way?"

"Both. For all of it, Grandma. For everything."

"I love you, my darling girl."

"I love you, too."

"Your hair smells like fish."

"Ugh, I know. I can smell it, too."

"And dirt."

"Yeah."

"And that sort of greenish slimy stuff that grows on the rocks in creek beds -"

"Okay, okay! I get it. I need a shower."

"Shall I call for Brigitte and Brigitta?"

"No, thanks. Not yet. I need a little space. You know, those girls are great, but -"

"Yes, I know. They always have been...enthusiastic."

Mia smiled. "They have. I'm pretty lucky to have so many people who care about me."

"You are," Clarisse agreed, cupping Mia's sticky cheek with her hand. "Now go on, take some time to care for yourself."

Mia knew they were talking about much more than a need for soap. "I'll try."

"Please, do." She stepped back a couple paces. "See you at dinner?"

"The one with Lord and Lady Porcher? Wouldn't miss it for the world," Mia said, rolling her eyes. She headed off toward her bedroom. "Oh, hey. Grandma? Be careful tonight, will you?"

Clarisse had been concentrating on getting back to the door without tramping on the footprints and making an even bigger mess of the floor. She came to a full stop before turning to respond. "What do you mean?"

"The culinary people are roasting a suckling pig for the occasion."

"Ha, very funny."

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Especially since we're actually having fish," Clarisse replied, knowing full well beef was on the menu.

Mia pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Not as funny."

"Don't worry. Someday it will be."

"Promise?"

"We all still chuckle when they serve chicken, don't we?"

"Again with the chicken! And no, _I_ don't. I feel a little uncomfortable. Like maybe I've met the poor thing somewhere before."

"Possibly in the throne room?"

"Alright, Grandma. You're funny. But don't quit your day job."

"I _have_ quit my day job. I'm looking for something else to do."

"You have plenty to keep you busy right here."

She took in the sight of her grubby granddaughter one more time. "I think you're right. And thank heavens for that. It does feel nice to be useful."

"I have every intention of keeping you that way."

Clarisse watched Mia disappear into the other room, and was surprised when she felt her eyes tear up. Yes, she had lots to do. Her country still needed her. But she had never felt quite so filled with purpose as she did in that moment. She offered up a silent thanks that she never again would have to quit being a grandmother.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks so much for reading along, and (once again) for your patience. And thanks to Hector for that interview he did with Bill Boggs so I can pretend I know about telling someone how not to smoke a cigar._

 _I still don't own these characters. I still haven't met Hector. I still have never smoked a cigar. (Honestly, what have I been doing with my life?)_

* * *

She stood just inside the doorway and watched the man who usually did the watching. He seemed to recline easily in his chair, one ankle crossed over the other knee as he savored a cigar and looked out over the grounds. The clouds of the afternoon had cleared, and now a partial moon had risen, adding a little glow to the night while still letting the stars shine brightly. The lamplight coming from the room behind her was soft and dim. How often had she come upon him like this over the years? Maybe not quite in this setting, but somehow _like_ this - the unperturbed calm spot in any storm, a steady source of unconditional love and support and wisdom.

No wonder her grandmother had always loved him.

She knew he knew she was there, and that, being on his radar, he was watching her in some sense. Still taking care of her. Ready to come to her defense. Nothing - not hurtful words, not any royal identity crisis, not retirement - would change things between them because - what was it he had told her once? Ah, yes - because no one can quit being who they really are. She may have tried to renounce her affectionate title of Princess, but he could never be anything other than her Knight in Shining Armor. And by simply being who he was, he helped remind her about who _she_ was.

No wonder her grandmother _and_ Mia had always loved him.

Ridiculously, tears threatened to take her down for the third time that day. She wrapped her arms around her torso and leaned heavily against the doorframe. How she wished she could take it all back and let him pull her into the haven of serenity that had always been her Joe. He made everything seem simple and possible. Everything, even his forgiving her. Even _her_ forgiving _herself_. Out here, just beyond his gravitational pull, she wasn't sure she was brave enough. She could leave, of course. He hadn't turned around, a signal to her that he was giving her a way out.

 _Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something is more important than fear. What could be more important than Joe?_

She closed her eyes and absorbed the sound of her father's voice within her, the aroma of her grandfather's cigar around her. Two men who would defy the laws of time and space to help her make all the most crucial decisions of her life.

She opened her eyes, straightened up, and walked over to him. He looked up and saw right away that her arms were snugly folded.

"Are you cold? Can I get something to wrap around you?"

Mia smiled, a little shyly. "I'm fine." Then, on a whim, she nodded to the cigar resting casually between his fingers. "I don't suppose you have an extra one of those you can spare?"

His answer was a soft, bemused chuckle as she pulled the other chair closer to his and sat down. "I always bring enough to share." He retrieved the slender cigar case from where it rested, partially tucked between his leg and the chair cushion; opened it, and held it out to her.

She leaned over and selected one, then drew it under her nose to inhale the scent of it as though she knew what she was doing. He offered his lighter. She held onto the cigar as she placed it between her lips and leaned toward him again.

He bit back a smile and cleared his throat. "Other end, Princess."

"Oh!" She turned it around. "I knew that."

"Mm-hmm." He held the flame to the proper end of the cigar. "Don't pull it all the way into your lungs."

"Right."

He eyed her carefully as she tentatively took her first puff. "Well?"

She nestled back into her chair and crossed one knee over the other. "Well?" she echoed, infusing the small word with as much blasé sophistication as she could muster.

He smiled, relaxing again, and let his eyes drift back to some place out in the distance. They kept each other company in the silence that settled comfortably between them, and it was only then that she realized she'd been given back her title. It had been bestowed so easily, so naturally, that neither of them had noticed it. But realization was starting to dawn on Joe. He hadn't moved, but his posture had stiffened a bit and his brow creased with apprehension.

She scrambled to think of something to say, to stave off whatever he felt should be said.

"I don't know how she does it, Joe. There we were, sitting at a table and eating dinner with Lord and Lady Porcher, and I was _fine_. How can someone be so perfectly...perfect?" The light was fading more, but she could feel how redirecting his attention to Clarisse had momentarily put him at ease. "She sweeps into a room and suddenly, everyone is feeling whatever they're supposed to. She's gracious and sincere and has that accent - all anyone can feel is gratitude for her attention."

"As they should."

"But somehow, she isn't above laughing at herself. Like, how many times has she had to console me with the story of the suckling pig? She laughs every time she tells it, and all it does is reinforce her flawlessness."

"And forgetting people's names."

"No one else could get away with calling the kitchen staff the 'culinary people.' But it's not condescending, it's somehow..."

"Charming." He puffed on his cigar again. "And there's the mattress surfing," he added, referring to the tradition she and Clarisse had recently introduced Gregory to on a particularly rainy day in late winter. It already seemed so long ago. Mia had been hesitant - as if her wild child had needed another outlet for his boisterousness - but Gregory's delighted squeals and bubbly laughter had brought her around to the idea, and she didn't know who was happier: her son or her grandmother.

No wonder Joe had always loved Clarisse.

"Yes! Exactly! Who else could ride a mattress down a slide with all the aplomb of a ballerina?"

She heard a reverent smile in his response. "There isn't anyone else. You know, your grandfather hated the undignified mattress surfing, but he couldn't deny her anything. Especially, when it was something to make the Princes happy. Besides, somehow it wasn't undignified when she did it."

Determined to keep the conversation going anywhere but back to the afternoon, she asked, "Did he smoke cigars with you?"

"On occasion."

"Because you liked each other."

"Yes. We weren't...friends exactly. King Rupert, may he rest in peace, understood the need for people to know their place. But not for the sake of snobbishness, and not at the expense of reaching out to others. And even he sometimes just needed to be, well...Rupert."

"He could be Rupert with you?"

"Yes." He laughed quietly. "Not that I ever called him that."

She watched him lapse into wordlessness and raise the cigar as he remembered people with a familiarity for which she had an unrequited longing. What she wouldn't give to sit here with Rupert and her father and listen to them banter carelessly with Joe as they smoked. To be people who were fine with mattress surfing, even if it wasn't a dignified activity. To simply be people, to be who they wanted to be; or better yet, to be who they were.

And she would get to know them for herself. Even after all these years, she only had pieces of them. As often as she fiddled with them, fitting them together in an attempt to build a bigger picture, there were some bits of the puzzle that would always remain beyond her. She was certain Joe was one of the few people who had had access to all the facets of Rupert, but the passing of Clarisse's first husband and of Time itself were not enough to break the unwavering dedication and loyalty with which Joe had always protected Genovia's late King.

No wonder her entire family had always loved Joe.

She had been lost in her musings and in getting used to her cigar, so Joe caught her off guard with the one thing she had been trying to avoid like the plague.

"I owe you an apology."

"Oh, Joe. Please -"

"No. You were right. Sometimes it's hard for me to remember all of who you are." His lips quirked in a wistful smile. "As much as...some people like to joke that I still haven't given the reins over to Shades, retirement has been growing on me. I find myself thinking more about my family - protecting you, always - but as my family. Not always as a royal one, I'm afraid. Maybe before I never had trouble remembering all the things everyone else was because I was only ever one thing myself. I finally have other roles, and I'm having to learn rather late in life how to balance all the parts of me."

He was killing her. She needed to correct him immediately. She wanted to jump up and throw her arms around him and tell him he was crazy if he actually believed any of that. But she had to collect herself because damn it! If she cried one more time today...!

Deep breaths...just take deep breaths...

Okay. Now or never.

"Maybe you never learned balance, not because you were only a one-dimensional Joe, but because you were always too focused on everyone else to realize everything you were to them. They all came first. We came first. Duty wasn't just Grandma's obsession, you know. But _duty_ doesn't begin to describe, for either of you, the full-on, body-and-soul dedication to, like, a million people, only a few of whom you actually were close to. And for the people you were close to? Uncle Pierre can't tell a story that doesn't have you in it. And maybe I didn't get to talk with my dad, but he wrote to me at least once a year on my birthday. I'd heard about you before I ever met you. Of course, I just assumed you were a kindly neighbor or a goofy uncle or something. Then I did meet you, and now I can't picture my life without you. We all know Grandma has loved you since the moment she saw you running with the security team on your first morning here. Well," Mia amended with a smirk, "I doubt that was _love_ she was feeling, but it was definitely the start."

"How's that?"

"You know! How you came running by her office, all muscled and sweaty and hot and..." She fanned herself with her hand. "... _hot_ \- wink wink, nudge nudge - in your tight t-shirt?

"The first time your grandmother and I saw each other was in the portrait gallery."

"No, that's the first time _you_ saw _Grandma_. She saw _you_...Wait a minute, do you actually not know this? How could she have not told you this?"

"I don't know, but I think I'd like to hear it."

"Well, she can tell you later. Anyway, my point is, you've always been...here. Yes, that's it. _Here_. I can't think of a single word that could better sum up all of your parts. 'Friend' doesn't begin to describe it. 'Bodyguard' - that's just your job description. 'Head of Security'? Looks good on a resume, but again, doesn't begin to describe who and what you've been to my family. To _our_ family."

He was being quiet so she snuck a sideways peek at him. Aw, great! Just as she suspected. Joe was misting up! Even in the darkness, she couldn't miss the telltale sparkle in his eyes. How was she supposed to not cry when Joe was on the verge of tears himself?

"I'm sorry, Joe. I'm sorry because at the end of the day, I want to be just Mia. I want to be someone's wife and mom and daughter and granddaughter. I want us to just be _here_ with each other."

He was on his feet and holding his arms out to her, and in a moment she was right where she had wanted to be all afternoon - as she fought Gregory's post-bath cowlick, as she endured Brigitte's elaborate hair styling, as she studiously laughed and conversed and ate and drank at dinner. She was just Mia again, the best part of her teenager self from the earliest of her royal days, reconciled with the one person who had always made her believe she could do anything.

"I'm so lucky to be your Princess."

"Always."

"Grandma sure is lucky to be your Queen."

"I'm sure lucky to be hers at all."

She grinned against his shoulder. "Doesn't she have a name for you?"

"Joseph."

"No, I mean another name. A pet name."

"No pet names."

"I can't picture her calling you 'Joey.'"

He shuddered. "She would never."

"Come on, Joe. Give it up."

"Not on your life."

"Aha! I knew there was one. I'll tell you the sweaty t-shirt story if you tell me the name."

"Forget it. I can get your grandmother to tell me the sweaty t-shirt story."

"If she hasn't after all this time, what makes you think -"

Joe squinted his eyes and assumed his most ominous Head of Security voice. "Some questions are better left unasked."

She laughed as she stepped away from him. "I know my grandmother better than that. If she doesn't want to do something, there is no force in heaven or on earth that will make her do it. Unless..."

Joe raised his eyebrows. "Unless...?"

"She makes the rare exception for you."

"'Rare' doesn't begin to cover it."

"You'll probably turn on that Joseph Charm she seems unable to resist."

"I think she's building up an immunity to it."

"Oh please! You two are like a couple of teenagers. It's like you've been on a seven-year honeymoon. I mean, it was really sweet at first, and you both waited so long for this, but I kind of thought it would wear off after awhile."

"I assumed it would wear off as well. But after all, neither of us is getting any younger and we have a lot of lost time to make up for."

She seemed not to hear him as something started clicking. "Yeah, thinking about it, why are you here alone anyway? Usually by this time, you two are all snuggly and cute on the sofa in cozy jammies, reading poetry to each other or something."

"I strongly object to all of those adjectives. And at least one of those nouns."

"You're in trouble, aren't you?"

"Nonsense. Your grandmother had a few things to do and..." After trying to avoid her skeptical eye, he sighed in defeat. "Alright. Yes, I'm still a little bit in trouble."

"Mm-hmm."

"I had promised to keep your son clean. And out of the creek."

"Right."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Or that if I couldn't, I'd at least keep you from finding out about it."

"In all fairness, you do remember he has my genes, right?"

"Every day." Something settled over his features that smacked of sentimentality.

"Alright, what are you thinking about when you get that look? Because Grandma gets it, too."

"I cannot speak for Clarisse, but I am thinking of a lovely young girl who grew up to be a lovely young queen."

"Why do I have the feeling that you and Grandma miss the Old Mia a lot more than I do?"

"Because she was such a charming, endearing creature. And I don't think she's quite so far away as you do."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Why on earth would you be?"

"Why _wouldn't_ I be? She just... She did everything wrong. She made everything so difficult."

"You underestimate her. You always did."

"You never did."

"Never. Not once."

"Thank you, Joe."

"You're welcome. Princess."

"Joe?"

"Yes?"

"I don't think I like cigars."

He smiled. "I didn't think so."

"But I like sitting out here with you. Just being Mia and Joe."

"So do I."

She gave him one more hug and the smoldering cigar. "What will you do with it? Smoke two at a time?" she teased.

The answer surprised her from behind. "I'll finish it."

Mia stared at her grandmother as she took the cigar from Joseph and raised it to her lips like she did it all the time. "Shut UP!"

Clarisse ignored that. "I just checked on Gregory. He's sleeping like an angel."

"I hear they all look like angels when they're sleeping," Mia said, rolling her eyes.

"I've never seen him as anything else," Joe declared.

This time Clarisse did the eye-rolling. "No, you haven't. Oh, and Mia. Nicholas is looking for you."

"Then I'll go find him. Besides," she said pointedly, "you two have a lot to talk about."

Joe smothered a smile while Clarisse looked surprised. "Do we?"

"Yes. About a warm, spring morning, many moons ago -"

"Not that many moons," Joe interjected with a frown.

"A boy, a girl,..." Mia waltzed through the doorway before throwing a mischievous glance back toward her grandparents. "...and a tight, sweaty, black t-shirt."

"Mia! You didn't!"

"Good night, Grandma!'

"Good night, Princess."

"Good night, Joe."

She lingered a few feet away, safe inside the shadowy part of the room.

"Joseph, what did she tell you?"

"Not nearly enough. Here, why don't I take that so you can regale me with a story?"

"Thank heavens, I detest those smelly things."

"You look like an expert."

"Well, it's nice to keep the young ones on their toes. You don't want them thinking they know everything about you."

"Speaking of not knowing everything..."

"There's nothing to tell, I don't know what she was talking about."

Mia smiled and slipped from the room, the pleasant sounds of a harmonious argument wrapping a protective layer around everything she was.

 _to be continued...I promise!_


	5. Chapter 5

_I know this is taking forever. But you'd thank me if you could have seen how terrible this chapter was in its previous drafts. It needed lots of work. Once more, I wove in some maligned_ Princess Diaries _quotes, and even a little one from_ The Sound of Music _. I don't own any of that._

 _Oh! The sweaty t-shirt story some of you asked about. You can find it in my story "Ogled." Joseph's confusion can be explained by reading "Awkward."_

 _Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading along!_

* * *

Damn that Nicholas.

Why did he have to be so...so...Nicholas?

Lilly had tried to hate him at various times. It should be easy. Like that time he let his uncle talk him into trying to steal the crown from Mia? Why had they ever let him off the hook for that?

Or that time his cheesy cuteness convinced her to convince Mia to half climb, half fall out of her bedroom window the night before her wedding to Andrew?

That one still stung, and she winced at the memory of it even now. She had unwittingly assisted Nicholas, who had unwittingly assisted Mabrey, to expose her best friend to scandal and ridicule. Friends don't do that. Honestly, how could she have thought sending her adorably clumsy Mia out a window _wouldn't_ result in disaster of some sort or another?

Now he kept harping on the high school reunion. Why did he have to ambush her during the dinner with boring important people whose opinions mattered way too much for her to be able to smack him? (Tangent musing: Why wasn't she allowed to smack people?) And worst of all, why did he have to talk and talk and talk until he almost had her convinced?

So. Annoying!

Lilly checked her watch. Not happy with what it told her, she checked the clock on the mantle of her small but elegant apartment. The clock's news was no better.

She had gone to find Mia and had found Nicholas instead. He had promised he would let her know Lilly had been looking for her, and she knew she could trust him, however reluctantly she would do so. Since he trapped her with a bit of innocuous small talk, she tried her best to be super polite, mustering all the diplomacy skills she had learned over the last however many years.

Then he hit her with it again: the high school reunion.

Why was he so obsessed with it? What the hell did Mr. Culinary-FancyPants-BonaFideHeirToAnActualCountry'sThrone know about the oppressive misery that high school could be?

He didn't know how wretched it was to be uncool in a high school whose curriculum was tailored for cool people.

He didn't know how much Mia struggled in her pre-princess revelation days, then struggled even more in her post-princess revelation days.

He didn't know how Lilly looked back on those days and felt a twinge of regret - for the jealousy she had felt toward the opportunities afforded her best friend through a seemingly random destiny; for her brash, well-intentioned but vinegar-y approach for catching flies as she ventured into the world of activism; for her treatment of the first nice guy who showed an interest in her.

She'd heard Jeremiah was doing very well for himself these days. Not that she'd deliberately set out to unearth that information. She'd just happened upon it by chance. She didn't care. Well, she cared. He was a decent guy. He deserved good things. His financial success probably had him beating away the Lanas of this world with a gold-plated stick. Unless he'd betrayed his fundamental values and had gone all A-crowd on her.

Luckily, she didn't care.

And what was it about her that appealed to Nice Guys? The lessons she'd learned from Berserk-ley and Life In General had helped her learn the benefits of honey over vinegar, to tone down her juggernaut-style zeal, but zealous she still was. Zealous, fiery, and unapologetically Lilly Moscovitz. Vegetarian, activist, policy advisor, occasionally girlfriend in doomed romantic relationships - no matter what hat she wore, she knew who she was. Of course, her favorite role was Official Best Friend of the Present Queen of Genovia. She knew this because it was engraved in hilariously fussy script on the nameplate Mia had given her after the coronation. But she had always been baffled by the way Nice Guys made a beeline toward her.

Like moths to a flame.

 _Focus, Lilly_. Mia would - hopefully - be here any moment, and she wanted to be focused on her friend's issues tonight, not her own. After all, Lilly wasn't the one who'd been dunked in a bucket of swamp water during tea with hoity-toity people. So...where had she been going with all this? Ah yes. The reunion.

She shuddered.

She thought back to all the new reasons she wanted to hate Nicholas.

He said he really wanted Mia to go, which was just irritating.

He had told Mia he wouldn't push her into it, which Lilly begrudgingly admitted she appreciated. No one likes a pushy Prince Consort.

He had explained delicately, insightfully, his true reasons for wanting Mia to return to her old stomping grounds, which was the worst part of all.

Because he had made sense. His motives were pure, loving, and totally on point. Damn him.

Before she knew it, she had agreed to try and convince Mia that coordinating her yearly unofficial, family-oriented visit to San Francisco with the stupid Grove High School reunion was an excellent idea.

How did he _do_ that?

Ah, Nicholas. How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways. I hate you because I really actually super like you a lot against my will.

 _Sigh._

A knock on the door spared her more anti-Nicholas wallowing.

"Yeah, it's open!"

In walked Mia. It amazed Lilly how much she was still the same. Except for her posture, which was way better since she'd found out she was royal.

"Hey, what's up?" Mia asked, almost tentatively.

"Not much."

They regarded each other warily for a long moment.

"Alright, what gives?" Lilly demanded.

"You're not going to mention fish or chickens, are you?"

"Not if there's a vegetarian option."

"I currently have no beef with tofu."

"That's funny. And let's tell that to the culinary people some time, shall we? Would it really hurt to make the palace kitchen more tofu-friendly?"

"I don't like to be too bossy with the people who cook my food. Anyway, Grandma told me that Nicholas wanted to see me, and _Nicholas_ told me that _you_ wanted to see me, so...here I am."

"Yep. Here you are." Lilly frowned. "Smelling like..." She moved close to Mia and sniffed.

Mia leaned away. "Um, Lills?"

"You smell like death fumes."

It took a moment for Mia to realize what she meant, then she laughed and waved her hand dismissively. "Oh. Yeah, well, it's not what it looks like. Or, I guess smells like."

"Oh, really?" Lilly drawled suspiciously. "Because it _smells_ like you've been giving some love to the greedy corporate killers who manufacture cancer sticks."

Mia walked over to the sofa and plopped down inelegantly. "I was smoking cigars with Joe."

"I find that baffling."

"It was a social thing. Also, I learned I don't like cigars."

"Good for you. Scoot over, will you?" Mia shifted her feet from the sofa to the coffee table to make room for the woman she'd known most of her life. "So does that mean you and Joe are good to go?"

"We are. I apologized. He tried to. Like it was his fault."

"Typical Joe."

"Yeah. I kind of hate most of today."

"It was a sucky day."

They sighed in unison and each stared off into the distance.

"How are things?" Mia said, finally breaking the silence.

Lilly shrugged. "Okay."

"Did you ask me to come visit because you need to see me, or because I need to see you?"

She must have some lingering residual mopiness from her Nice Guy introspection or something. Sometimes Lilly forgot they'd been friends too long for Mia not to pick up on whatever unconscious distress signals she gave off during times of need.

"I just wanted to check on you. You've been kind of cranky lately."

"I know. I'm sorry about that."

"You're in charge of an entire country. You're entitled."

"I've been taking it out on all my favorite people though."

"Your grandma understands; she's been there. Joe gets it because he's Joe. Nicholas deserves it because he can be really annoying, especially when he thinks he's being cute and funny. And by the way, I hate to tell you this, but that little one you've spawned is Nick Junior."

"Come on, Nick Junior has Auntie Lilly wrapped around his little finger."

"Maybe. But the big one, I still don't like."

"Now who's being cranky?"

"He's kind of a mooch."

"That _could_ be said about lots of people."

"Hey, I have an actual job."

"So does Nicholas, and you know that. So what's the real issue here?"

"I can't tell you."

"Lilly, you tell me everything."

"You are not going to like this."

"Oh?"

"I was talking to Nicholas."

"Your next sentence could go in any number of directions."

"This direction takes us right into the jaws of hell."

"Don't tell me."

"I warned you, but you asked, so now I have to."

"This isn't about...?"

"I'm afraid it is."

"And he convinced you...?"

"I'm afraid he did."

Mia sprang up from the sofa. "Are you seri-...SHUT _UP!_ Are you serious? He managed to convince _you_?" She stared at Lilly in awe. "I have _got_ to start channeling his talents into treaty negotiations." She narrowed her eyes. "You don't _want_ to go, do you?"

Lilly was offended. "Of course not."

"Damn him."

"I told you at the start I didn't like him, but you didn't listen to me."

"Don't even, Lilly -"

"'Tell me which one to shoo,' I said. I knew I was shooing the wrong one all that time ago."

"- you're practically the reason we got married -"

"I thought you'd have a lovely pre-wedding fling when he showed up at your window that night. I didn't think you'd _marry_ the guy."

"- and now I'm stuck with him so don't even go there."

"The two of you were gone for quite awhile this morning."

Mia rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, we weren't...flinging."

Lilly couldn't resist a dimpled grin. "Ew," she teased, chucking a pillow at the Queen. Mia caught it and threw it back at her. "I just meant, I thought he might be convincing you himself."

"He said we didn't have to go." Mia frowned. "And all that time, he was plotting to turn my best friend against me." She sighed. "I guess it's your turn anyway."

"My turn? To convince you about the reunion?"

"To talk me down off a ledge. It's like today has turned into one big intervention. First Nicholas, then Grandma, then Joe. I assume that's why I've been summoned?"

"That's an interesting concept, but I haven't received any formal invitation to participate. I mean, I always have something to say, you know that's not an issue."

"I do."

"But beyond making sure you were okay, I think I just needed company. We're each standing on a cusp and maybe we're the only ones who understand what the other one is going through."

Mia dropped back onto the couch. "You first? Or me?"

Lilly shook her head. "Your problems are bigger than mine. We're just talking about you tonight."

"I've spent all day crying on other people's shoulders. And I mean that literally. I think I'd like to be the one providing the shoulder."

"Fine. But I think I went first last time. So it's your go."

"My emotionally scarred inner teenager keeps comparing Nicholas to Josh. And she's doing all sorts of other things, too."

Lilly nodded. "Anything else?"

Mia became very interested in picking at the piping along the edge of the couch cushion.

"Just...lots of stuff. You know."

"I know about the economy. And the pear crops. And the gossip. But I don't think you want me to get started on the effects of global warming. Definitely don't get me going on -" Lilly pretended to wretch. "-Elsie."

Mia managed a wan smile that she directed toward her lap. "Maybe not tonight."

"What do you think I'll say?"

"I'm not that weird little girl anymore, all my normal body parts finally showed up ages ago, Josh was a one-of-a-kind jerk, and Nicholas has proved himself over and over again."

"Except that Nicholas hurt you once, very badly," Lilly amended quietly. "And we've been around long enough to know that Josh isn't a one-of-a-kind jerk. The whole world is full of them." Lilly wasn't in the habit of feeling timid, but she asked her next question in as delicate a tone as possible. "Are you pregnant yet?" Mia shook her head. "Oh."

Lilly got up and made her way back to the freezer, which was crammed with enough ice cream for six months' worth of crises. She grabbed two pints and a couple of spoons.

Back at the couch, Lilly held up both pints. "Which one?"

"Surprise me," Mia answered dully.

After a few minutes of self-medicating with ice cream, Lilly started talking again. Quickly, like she was wont to do when she was confessing.

"I'm just glad he turned out to be decent. Don't tell him I said this, but he's definitely redeemed himself. There are a lot of Joshes in this world, but he's not one of them."

Mia's spoon stopped halfway to her mouth, and as a chunk of ice cream threatened to drop to her lap, her eyes widened.

"I know, I know. I can be hard on him."

"Ya think?"

"It's just - I don't know. He's…" Lilly cast around desperately for a way to steer the conversation into safer, less emotional territory. She was currently in danger of making this therapy session about her. And what the hell was that weird, prickling sensation in her eyes? Seriously? Was she about to cry?

"Aw, Lilly," Mia said softly.

Shit. She _was_ about to cry, and Mia noticed so there wasn't any turning back now. She felt the ice cream container being removed from her hands, and arms being wrapped around her, and her head nestling into the embrace.

"I hope you meant it when you said you wanted someone to cry on your shoulder."

She felt a small chuckle shake them. "I meant I wanted to be available. Not that I wanted there to be something that made you cry. Come on, friend. You can tell me."

"I don't know where to start. It's really complicated."

"I wouldn't expect anything else from you."

This time, Lilly laughed. "Thanks. I knew you'd understand."

"Whenever you're ready."

"What if it makes me sound like a really bad person?"

"You? The Keeper of Royal Secrets? The Eternal Rocker of the World? The Woman Who Moved Halfway Across the Globe to Be Advisor to the Queen of Another Country and Her Best Friend?"

"I just sort of ended up here. You know, because of Kip," she bluffed. "I mean, I probably didn't need to move closer because I'm sure I could have heard him from California… Would that have been a long-distance relationship if I had technically still been within earshot?"

"I don't care why you stayed. If it was because of Kip, then I am grateful to him."

"Well, at least something good came of that relationship."

"I need you," Mia said simply, ignoring Lilly's attempts to deflect.

Lilly squeezed her eyes shut and burrowed deeper into the hug in her search for courage.

"That's the thing. You don't need me."

"You're already getting complicated. You'll need to start explaining."

Lilly sat up and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. When she opened them again again, she saw a box of tissues being held in front of her. "You're really good at this. I have no idea where those even came from." She yanked one from the box and blew her nose. "No, really. Were they already here?"

"They were right on this table behind your couch."

"Huh. Why would I have those there? I'm kind of the rock type, after all," she joked. "Rocks don't normally need tissues."

"Maybe you have them here in case I drop by," Mia smiled.

"Maybe." She was quiet. So was Mia, who was waiting patiently. "Why do nice guys like me?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"It's just… I tend to be a bit, you know. Brash. Out there. In your face, telling it like it is."

"Some people would call that honesty."

"Oh, but it's terrible."

"Lilly, my world is full of sycophants and professional suck-ups. If it weren't for my family and my oldest, dearest friend forming a circle around me, I would never hear the truth. I would have no authenticity in my life. And anyway, you don't give yourself enough credit. You've made impressive strides at being tactful, and while you'll probably never achieve subtle, your brand of forward is charming and honest and witty. You're _real_ , Lilly. I love that about you. And so do all sorts of other people, including Nice Guys."

"So I'm not too bossy?"

Mia pursed her lips. "Well," she said, drawing the short word out into several syllables. "You _can_ still be a little bossy. Not _too_ bossy."

"But bossy?"

"An _attractive_ bossy."

"I bossed Kip around and made him miserable."

"No. You bossed Kip around and made him sublimely happy."

They both laughed then, and Lilly felt lighter.

"Are you nervous about the reunion?" Mia asked.

"Yes," Lilly admitted. "I'm nervous about seeing Jeremiah, the first Nice Guy I bossed around. And I'm nervous about facing the A Crowd."

Mia was all disbelief. "Why?"

"There is nothing I am prouder of being than your best friend. But what if they think I'm just coasting through life, riding your coattails? Or rather, the train of your fur-lined red cape? What if they think I'm a mooch? It's cute when you say it, but…"

"Lilly Moscovitz. You. Are _not_. A mooch. You have absolutely built up your own reputation and identity based on all the amazing work you do. If anyone doubts that, they aren't paying attention to current events. And they are _definitely_ projecting."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." Mia started to laugh again.

"What?"

"It's just sort of surreal that we're even having this conversation. In high school, I was only known as Lilly's Friend. And I have to say, I feel pretty lucky that I still am."

Lilly smiled. "You were just a late bloomer. But when you bloomed - holy cow! A princess? Shut up!"

"Yeah, we both turned out to be kind of amazing, didn't we?"

"I'll say."

"Better?"

"Much. Thanks."

"Me, too. Hey, so...out of curiosity…"

"Yeah?"

"How did Nicholas convince you about the reunion?"

"Oh. That." Lilly felt a residual pang of guilt. "You know how you know me pretty much better than anyone else does?" Mia nodded. "And how I know you really well?" Another nod. "It turns out that Nicholas - that guy I still love to hate - knows you as well as I do. Maybe even better. Which makes me feel strangely jealous because what gives him the right to be the leading authority on Mia? And envious, too, because why can't I have someone who knows me like that? Am I petty?"

"No," Mia assured her.

"Do I sound like a horrible person? I knew if I kept talking I would eventually sound like a horrible person."

"We've already been over this. Horrible is not an option for you."

"He said if you're confident and secure and past all the drama trauma -"

"He said 'drama trauma'?"

"I'm paraphrasing. This is an important part. Don't interrupt."

"Sorry."

"If you're past all that, you should either go into the reunion like the Queen you are, or skip it without giving it another thought. But if you're still caught up in self-doubt, maybe opting out is just another way of putting up your invisibility shield. Like you're closing your eyes and sticking your fingers in your ears and singing 'Catch a Falling Star' until the chance to go back passes you by."

"He said that?"

"That he pretty much said."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I _hate_ when he makes sense."

"Tell me about it." Lilly watched her closely. "You wanna know what I think?"

"Always."

"I think he's on the right track. You need to stop trying to _define_ yourself, and just start _liking_ yourself. But not just for your own sanity. You're a public figure. You're a role model to millions of people. Most of all, you're setting an example for one five-year old boy in particular."

Mia sucked in a breath, her face going pale and her lips trembling. "Gregory," she whispered.

Lilly nodded. " _He_ loves you for who you are, and he needs to see you do that for yourself." Then, just because the open and honest session was about to make one or both of them spontaneously combust, she added: "You know, Gregory is kind of like six kids. You throw in Nick and Joe, and it's more like eight. I know you want to have another one, but that's already kind of a lot."

Mia nodded and made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. Lilly figured it was some combination of both.

"You okay?"

Mia shook her head _yes_.

"You want to stay up too late and watch reruns of some stupid sitcom and finish our ice cream before it melts all over the coffee table?"

"That's sounds great." Lilly thrust the box of tissues at her. "See? I told you you keep these around for me."

"It's possible they're here for both of us. Don't tell anyone, but I'm not the rock I pretend to be."

Mia smiled in a way that told her Lilly wasn't fooling nearly as many people as she thought she was. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

"Mia?"

"Hmm?"

"I did stay here for you. Kip was a convenient kind of excuse. But you knew that, too, didn't you?"

Mia draped her arm around Lilly's shoulders for a quick side hug. "That's because I am Lilly's Friend."

"And I still have the friendship charm to prove it. Now, reassure me again that that fur on your cape is fake."

 _to be continued_


	6. Chapter 6

_This chapter is different - sort of a hodgepodge of perspectives to wrap up the first part of the story. It was fun to write; I hope it's fun to read._

 _Thanks so much for the feedback, and for simply reading along._

* * *

It's dark, and though she knows he's awake, she tries to be quiet. She performs the bare essentials of her nightly routine, then eases under the covers. He doesn't speak until she's settled onto her side. He turns and scoots closer so he can murmur into her hair at the nape of her neck.

"What did Lilly want? Or shouldn't I ask?"

"Mostly pre-reunion anxieties."

"Pre-reunion? Does that mean she's going?"

"Only because I am. And _I'm_ only going because _she_ is. We're a two-fer."

"Okay then."

Silence.

"I can hear your smirking."

"I'm not smirking."

"You are."

"Maybe I'm a little happy about it…"

"Something I'll never understand."

"Is it hard to believe that I'm proud of you?"

"So you want to show me off?"

"No. I want you to show yourself off."

"I hate that you always know just what to say."

"I can tell you've been hanging around with Lilly. You're still reflecting some of her irritation toward me."

"If it helps, she is usually only minimally irritated with you anymore."

"It does, thanks."

"But don't tell her I said that."

"Never."

"Pinkie promise." She held her hand over her shoulder until she felt his finger hook around hers. "Now it's binding."

"Absolutely. And maybe in another decade or so, she'll actually like me."

"Patience. The pyramids weren't built in a day."

"True. So...were you really with her all this time?"

"Mostly. I checked on our wild little man."

"Was he there?"

"He was."

"Was he asleep?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Did you watch him breathe in and out for a little while?"

"Just to be safe. Also, because I like to watch him sleep."

"He's positively angelic when he sleeps."

"That seems to be the general consensus."

Silence again. Nicholas wraps his arms around Mia and pulls her close to him, so she can feel every inch of the back of her body against every inch of the front of his.

"He's going to be okay."

"I know."

"And so are you."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm okay, you're okay…"

"I mean it." He's starting to sound drowsy, and it relaxes her. "Tomorrow is another day. Or...well, it is. But I mean, later today is another day. Try to enjoy it."

"Enjoy it."

"Yes. Don't analyze. Don't worry. Don't overthink."

"Is that all?"

"That's all."

"If only I'd known."

"I'll assume your sarcasm is your Lilly-esque way of saying, 'Thank you, my wonderful husband.'"

"Go right ahead."

"'Love of my life'. 'Man of my dreams.'"

"Sure. All of those."

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

He nuzzles her neck. It tickles and she scrunches her shoulders.

"I was wondering…"

Now he's trailing his fingers lightly along her side, and her stomach fills with butterflies.

"I know this is the wrong time of the month for making babies, but maybe we could practice."

"Practice?" She can feel that he is getting his second wind, and it distracts her from the conversation.

"Practice."

"I don't know...it's kind of late…"

"So maybe no practice tonight. How about just because I want to love you until we fall asleep?"

"Not for practice?"

"Not for practice." He kisses her shoulder. "Just to be with you, to be as close as possible." His head burrows into the curve where her shoulder meets her neck, and he notices how her pulse has quickened, how her breath is changing. "To show you all the feelings I have no words for - my wonder and gratitude for being yours."

She rolls over in his arms and leans her forehead against his.

"You know what? Sometimes I love that you know just what to say."

-0-

The very first thing she did when she got to her office the next morning was pick up the phone and request a meeting with her Head of Security. The Queen's San Francisco itinerary required some adjustment, and Shades would need to prepare accordingly.

-0-

"I think some mattress surfing is in order for today."

"Clarisse, do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Why not? Mia didn't mind before."

"Yes, but she's...more and more protective all the time."

"And she was in a much better mood at breakfast."

"That was at breakfast."

"Still wary, even after your talk last night?"

"I learn from my mistakes."

"And I learn from mine," she said softly.

Joseph came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. Clarisse tilted her head slightly to make room for him to rest his chin on her shoulder, and she folded her arms across his. For a long time, they watched the raindrops roll down the window pane, cocooned in the coziness of their suite and the closeness of their company. Time had not lessened his wonder at being able to call her his, or her gratitude for having a chance to love someone this way.

"He's all she has." She laughed. Bitterness marred the sound that usually lit up his life, and an uncharacteristically snide tone crept into her voice. "An heir without a spare." He squeezed her tighter and dropped his closed mouth to her shoulder. "What does anyone else know? You don't have spares, you have children. You're not building up reserves, you're making a family. After we lost Philippe..." A single silent, tearless sob shuddered through her. He tucked his nose into the crook of her neck, to be as close to her as possible in this pain, until her breathing calmed and she could speak again. "Yet now that Pierre is all I have, if something were to happen to -" She broke off, not wanting to give words to misfortunes, even if they were only occurring hypothetically. "I would not be _more_ devastated if something happened to Pierre now because I don't have Philippe anymore - that wouldn't be possible, to be _more_ devastated; there aren't degrees of devastation - but it would be _different_. I don't know if I could survive it. Mia has one, Joseph. Only one. And Philippe had only one - one baby girl he wasn't able to watch grow up. If something had happened to _her_ before they had met, can you imagine how he would have felt?"

"No. I cannot."

"Neither can I." She made to turn, and he loosened his hold on her so she could spin around in his arms to face him. "Family is still sometimes a tenuous thing for her. We weren't there for her, and for so long, all she had of us was what she imagined us to be. She wants to protect Gregory from so much - from the monarchy, from the media, from repeating mistakes we've all made, from…" Now she was grasping for words to describe things that can only ever be felt.

"From life," Joseph offered quietly. "From a future she cannot see."

"The same things Philippe and Helen wanted. Every parent feels it, of course, but, well, _differently_. She used to be so...effervescent. Lately, it's as though all the joy has seeped out of motherhood. It saddens me, Joseph, because if she really does have all of this only once, if there are no more chances -"

"- she should enjoy it."

Clarisse nodded. "Easier said than done, I know."

"And that's why we're mattress surfing today?" He gave her a small, unconvinced smile.

Clarisse ran her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and behind his neck; and he pulled her closer to lean his forehead against hers. They were both ready to move on from conversations that could only serve to remind them how many things there were over which they had little control. "I finally get to be a grandma, every step of the way. I am going to enjoy it. _That's_ why we're mattress surfing. Also, because I am very good at it."

"The best, my dear."

She drew back suddenly from him. "But just in case, maybe we shouldn't, er…"

"...mention it to the Queen?" he guessed.

She smiled. He always knew what she needed to say. Or almost always, which was still quite impressive. "Yes," she confirmed.

"Got it."

"Thank you."

-0-

By late afternoon, rain was pummeling the palace and the grounds.

Gregory couldn't help but think about how the creek would swell.

Grandma had asked some of the palace people to set up the mattress slide for them again. It was a great pastime for a rainy day, she'd said. He had agreed whole-heartedly.

But now, he wasn't so sure. He was starting to realize he had a penchant for trouble, and he suspected that made him less like a prince.

He didn't know what made him a prince, except that his mother was the Queen. Apparently, that was reason enough. He had no idea what else to do to feel like a prince. It was probably a good start to stay away from the creek. He knew that. It was just _so hard_ because he liked the creek.

And he liked mattress surfing. Mama hadn't gone for it at first, but eventually she had let Grandma show him. She had even stood at the bottom of the staircase, calling out advice and looking like she wanted to be ready to catch him in case he rolled off the mattress or something.

Maybe he _would_ roll off. He hadn't really thought of that. Not the time before. It had been too exciting for him to worry.

He heard a clap of thunder, and thought about the creek again. It might be overflowing the banks. He had been wondering what his chances were of convincing someone to take him down when the rain stopped. But the water would be high and fast. Maybe it would be dangerous. He could slip on a smooth, slimy rock, and Mama had warned him once that the water could push him down…

Grandma's face lit up when the palace people put the mattress into place at the top of the stairs. She was motioning to him to come along. He looked nervously to the floor below. Grandpa stood at the bottom. Grandpa wouldn't let anything happen to him. He had tried to keep him out of trouble at the creek, but Gregory hadn't listened. He hadn't wanted to stay out of trouble. He couldn't seem to resist it. He noticed how far below them the lower floor was, how the slide went on forever. Maybe the best way to stay out of trouble was to not go anywhere near it in the first place. He took a step backward.

Then he saw Mama appear behind Grandpa.

-0-

Mia stood and looked up at her little boy.

He was a miracle, and she had had quite a lot to do with bringing him into existence.

She saw him take a step away from the mattress slide. She saw worry and doubt furrow his young brow. She sighed.

That was her, too.

She walked past Joe, who startled when he saw her. Ha! So she _could_ sneak up on him. At least, when he was preoccupied with doing something he thought he shouldn't be doing.

He was _so_ much like her son.

"Gregory?" she called. "I don't want you to do that just yet." She thought he looked relieved and disappointed at the same time. "Not until I get up there anyway." She started up the staircase, her posture regal and her steps sure as her staff stood ever respectfully, although uncertain of their fate for being accessories.

Only her grandmother was brave enough to look straight at her, and to notice that the gleam in Mia's eyes matched that in her own. That's because they were alike.

That's because they shared the same spirit.

She stopped at the top of the stairs, kicked off her heels, and rolled her neck and flexed her fingers.

"Mama is going to show you how it's done, kid."

"That's my girl," Clarisse said with pride.

It might have been gray and rainy outside, but inside, Gregory's smile broke across his face like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

 _to be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

_This was tricky. Fun, but tricky. Not sure it's where I want it to be, but I'm desperate to move on._

 _If you haven't become bored and moved on yourself (I would understand; it's been a long wait!), thanks so much for reading._

* * *

Nicholas had become well-versed in the Queen's sighs.

There was the self-conscious sigh, which he was glad to note he hadn't heard much of in the past month.

There was the contented sigh that came in moments marked by peace and populated by her husband and son.

There was the frustrated, impatient sigh. He heard this one most often preceding appearances before Parliament.

There was the weary sigh. This one usually came _after_ appearances before Parliament, but also any time when the weight of the world rested too heavily on her shoulders.

Mia kept the volume of her sighs down so few people heard them. But there was one sigh no one else heard - only Nicholas, late at night and draped in darkness, in the space between love and sleep. She would settle into his embrace and he would nestle his head next to hers. It was the sweetest of all the sighs.

But this sigh was the one she used to tip him off that she was exasperated with him.

"What?" he asked, genuinely unaware of any wrongdoing.

"The reunion is a matter of hours away, and there you are, doing the crossword puzzle."

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "And I should... _not_...be doing the crossword puzzle?"

"After filling in for me at the morning show interview this morning while I fielded questions over last-minute treaty revisions via transatlantic conference calls with a frantic prime minister, you are entitled to do whatever you like."

"I did a good job on that, right?"

"The cooking demo was pretty much genius."

"I like morning shows."

"I'd rather be fielding questions with frantic prime ministers."

"That's why we're such a great team."

She plucked the newspaper from one hand and the pen from the other, and tossed them both over her shoulder before settling onto his lap. He decided this was a better way to occupy his hands and his thoughts, and eagerly aimed for her lovely neck.

"Now wait a minute, we really don't have time for that," she admonished half-heartedly.

"Time is an illusion."

"Nicholas…"

His reply was muffled, his words skimming along the skin visible over the edge of her collar. "Isn't that why you're here?" He jostled his knees to illustrate that _here_ referred to his lap. In case that was unclear.

"I'm here because I wanted give you a great big giant hug for being so wonderful."

"That's very nice. Would you like to give me anything else? Wink-wink, nudge-nudge."

She extricated herself from his hold in order to get back up on her feet, and laughed at his wounded pout. "I have to check in with Grandma and Gregory before I start getting ready."

"It's hours before the reunion! How long do you need to…?"

She arched an eyebrow at him as he trailed off. "How long have we been married?"

"Alright, fine," he conceded with less than his usual amount of grace. "Can I at least have my crossword puzzle back?"

She made a show of picking up the paper and the pen and presented them to him with a flourish. "I still don't know how you can sit here so calmly and do this."

"I _was_ calm," he muttered, still disappointed at his attentions being thwarted.

"You aren't even a tiny bit nervous?"

"Me? Are you kidding?"

She sighed again. The Wistful sigh. "You're right. After all, you improvised a souffle on a live taping of a morning show. Who _does_ that?"

He pushed himself out of the chair and pulled her into his arms. "Just because I'm a show-off," he said quietly as she rested her head on his shoulder, "doesn't mean I don't get nervous."

"Are you nervous about this evening?"

"I am. You represent Genovia, and I represent you. While there is nothing in this world I'd rather do, it's still a lot of pressure."

"Luckily, you do everything well."

"In the end, that's probably why you married me."

"You _are_ very handy to have around."

They moved apart, and this time _he_ sighed. The way she smiled softly at him and cupped his cheek, he knew she understood that he was already missing her.

She leaned in for a kiss, which he happily obliged her with, probably for longer than she had intended. Then with a wink, she was gone.

He stood at a loss, arms hanging at his sides, the crossword puzzle forgotten even as he clutched it. He looked around the suite that was their own space while they stayed at the consulate in San Francisco. It had been Clarisse's suite while she was Queen. Mia had been uncomfortable to assume the accomodations that had once been occupied by her grandmother, but as far as he could tell, Clarisse was quite willing to retreat to a less prominent - although equally royal - suite.

In true-to-Clarisse fashion, she had navigated the transition and the years that followed with more grace and humor than anyone else had. She'd made ruling a country look easy. Now she made the role of grandmotherly Dowager Queen look like a piece of cake. Nicholas chuckled at the thought. Clarisse adored her little family, and they adored her back; but he was pretty sure they were no piece of cake.

A knock interrupted his musings. He started toward the door before realizing the sound had come from somewhere else. He listened for it again, then followed it. A few moments later, he found himself in the back of the spacious walk-in (Lilly referred to it as a _live_ -in) closet, pushing aside clothes in order to see the back of the wall.

He knocked on it, imitating what had led him here - three short, firm knocks.

The same rhythm responded to him from the other side of the wall.

He ran his hands along the apparently smooth surface before feeling the slightest dip under his fingertips. He traced the dip in a line ending at the hardware that secured the clothes rack to the wall. He skimmed his thumb along the screws and discovered that one of the screws protruded beyond the others. Instinctively, he pressed it. He heard a click, and he turned the bracket that was actually a doorknob. Well-hidden hinges swung the wall - and the clothes rack - backward, revealing a figure dressed in black.

"Well, what do you know?" the Prince Consort asked rhetorically.

Joe took a few steps into the closet. "I was beginning to think she'd never leave. And that you'd never figure out where I was."

"In all fairness, this is a bit unconventional. How did you know about it?"

Joe's face was bland as he responded. "I was Head of Security. I knew all the secret passageways and hidden doors. It was necessary to have multiple escape routes in place for emergencies."

Fascinated by the discovery, Nicholas started his next question without thinking. "Did you ever use it when Clarisse was -"

He stopped his question as quickly as he'd started it. He glanced automatically over his shoulder toward the entrance of the closet, which led into the bedroom, then wished dearly he hadn't. Joe's face responded loud and clear: No comment; the secret passageway conversation over.

Joe held out a slim file. "We thought this might be of use to you."

Nicholas took it and recognized the "For Your Eyes Only" markings of the folder. "Okay. Thanks?"

"I can close the door, but it has to be locked from both sides."

Nicholas bit his tongue, on the tip of which rested the pointed, two-word comment, " _And unlocked."_ He simply nodded, which seemed safest.

There was a moment's hesitation before Joe clapped his hand on Nicholas's shoulder. "I think I know how you're feeling."

Suddenly, Nicholas realized Joe did.

Joe, the guy who was married to a beloved ruler of Genovia. Joe, who knew how to stand aside to give the spotlight over to his wife, yet stay close enough to support her and love her and never let her fall. Joe, who held the heart of a woman on whom an entire country full of people had staked some sort of ownership.

Joe, who during the first few weeks of their acquaintance had been able to put the fear of God into Nicholas with a single dark look, but could also peer deeper into him than anyone else. As though he saw in Nicholas other things - better things - that he'd never been taught to nurture.

Joe may have been the most suspicious at the official start of his relationship with Mia, but he had been the first to recognize his potential.

"I'm nervous, much more so than I care to let on."

Joe nodded. "I'm sure."

"We did the right thing coming here, didn't we?"

"I think so."

"This isn't easy. _Any_ of this."

"No, it's not."

"But it's worth. God, it's worth it. I'd never want to be anything else."

Joe squeezed Nicholas's shoulder before releasing it. "Neither would I. For the record, I think you're doing a fine job. And if you ever need to talk..."

"I'll knock on your closet wall," Nicholas assured him.

Joe smiled, then disappeared through the closet door before either of them had to deal with the lump obviously forming in Nicholas's throat. He took with him a load of the younger man's self-doubts and unspoken worries, allowing Nicholas to put everything back the way it had been - literally and figuratively. He thought of going out to the sitting room, but he realized he was holding something Joe hadn't wanted Mia to see; so instead he settled into the chair in the closet that was as big as some people's homes. The puffy chair was rounded with surprisingly uncomfortable cushions, and he felt a bit silly hiding in the closet.

The moment he opened the folder, he laughed. The document was the typewritten epitome of Joe's professionalism. Annotations along the sides were written in Lilly's bold, urgent scrawl. Responses and additions were made in Joe's elegant and efficient script.

Joe's typed heading read: A Summary of Pivotal Persons for the Night of the Reunion.

Lilly's handwriting clarified: " **So you know who the players are."**

The second page was devoted to one Lilly Moscovitz. **Because I have nothing to hide** , declared the inked note at the top.

Nicholas grinned and let his worries fall away as he began to read.

...

Lilly Moscovitz

For the first official function she had attended at the consulate, Lilly had brought Jeremiah as her date. She had worn a grown-up dress and makeup with a hint of sparkle to it. She told him she felt ridiculous, but deep down she knew the complaint had been a knee-jerk reaction to an uncomfortable situation. She wasn't used to looking so...polished. She had been rather impressed with herself. It turned out to be an epic, glamorous night, and she'd had a blast.

Now she was staying in the consulate. In part because she was an advisor to the Queen, but also because she'd spent the first few days with her mother, and Lilly was certain she spoke for both of them when she said a few days were more than enough.

Lilly had been there nearly every step of the way along Mia's journey, and like hell was she going to abandon her now. She wanted to - god, she wanted to run - but Mia deserved to have Lilly at her side and they both deserved to sweep into that reunion like they owned the joint.

They had used their positions to rock the world. Most of all, they had maintained a friendship that would forever withstand the test of time and monarchies and break-ups and tabloid rumors.

Lilly studied herself in the mirror now and smiled at the memory of her teenage self feeling so mature. She wore black again tonight, a simple but gorgeous dress with a smoother fabric and heftier price tag. (Only slightly heftier. On principle, Lilly eschewed wardrobe choices that could feed third-world countries.) Her makeup was more expertly applied, and her smoky eyes looked pretty fantastic. There was something missing though…

After a moment's hesitation, Lilly lunged for the sheer powder with a hint of sparkle to it. She dusted it along her hairline near her temples, dabbed it along her collarbone, and - what the hell? - dipped it into her cleavage.

There. Now she was grown-up, world-traveling Lilly Moscovitz with a touch of her younger, altruistic self, and she was perfect. She looked into the mirror and felt a swell of pride for her best friend and for herself, for her own country and for her adopted one.

She saw with eyes that didn't sugar coat, with a perspective that didn't lie, with a spirit that still wielded the idealism of her youth. And she liked what she saw.

She lifted her chin and flashed her reflection a dimpled grin.

It was time, and she was ready.

Lana Thomas-Hutchinson

 _[Joe] Member of the cheering squad and ringleader to Hannah-Banana-Bandana-Montana..._

 **[Lilly] Total instigator and real piece of work; quintessential member of the A-crowd; archnemesis to Mia** **and the Crown of Genovia** **; tried to hit on my brother once because apparently I didn't already not like her enough**

 _[Joe] Note to Lilly: I am crossing out "and the Crown of Genovia." You cannot name someone as enemy of the state in a For Your Eyes Only document. We've been over this. Shades takes these things very literally. -Joe_

...

Lana stood in front of the full-length mirror and liked what she saw.

After all, what wasn't there to like?

Ten years beyond graduation, and she actually looked _hotter_ than ever. How many of her friends were going to be able to say that? She still kept up with her besties, even meeting them once a year or so to do lunch; and they didn't look anywhere near as attractive as she did. Alright, she begrudgingly gave Anna props for maintaining somewhat despite having had two kids, but Fontana was already dabbling in plastic surgery. Lana was enjoying a reflection that was totally au natural.

Well, maybe not the chest. The girls just needed a little perking up, that's all. A little lift didn't count as _real_ surgery.

She skimmed her hands over the sides of her dress, and stopped below her hips when she felt the top of the slit. She smiled and swiveled her hips and jutted out her leg. Her dress was a dark red satin. San Fran's Princess would probably be wearing lace like a patriot. She smirked at the thought. Lace was _so_ last year, not to mention lame all the time. Seriously, who wore lace on something other than a wedding dress? (And even then: still lame.)

Lana finished taking stock of all her physical attributes long enough to consider what she was taking with her in the department of life accomplishments. Her singing career hadn't taken off, despite her enormous talent, her father's attempt at canvassing his contacts, and her attempt at wooing Michael Moscovitz. She shuddered in her off-the-shoulder, form-fitting gown. She could admit that he was kind of cute, but how she had hated pursuing the Princess's cast-offs. Which was why she hadn't pursued him very hard. And why she hadn't landed him. Obviously.

Instead, she had ended up with a workaholic music producer who traveled frequently. It was the perfect arrangement. She had lots of money, lots of social connections, and lots of free time. And he had some seriously enviable arm candy for important functions and red carpets. (Because in democracies like America, you don't need to be royalty to walk red carpets.) Yep, perfect.

To make things even _more_ perfect, as if _that_ were possible, this was one of those nights when her hubby was traveling. And that meant she was a free agent for the reunion this evening.

Which meant she was a few hours away from her ultimate goal for tonight: Genovia's own Prince Nicholas.

She had read in the tabloids about the Prince Consort's extramarital hobbies, and it all totally made sense. Really, someone that good-looking couldn't _possibly_ be interested in some random, luck-of-the-draw princess who hadn't figured out what a hairbrush was until she was, like, sixteen. Or maybe not even then. She'd had to hire someone to work the hairbrush for her.

And, not to sound shallow, but she did have a score to settle with the freakish Mia. She had stolen Josh from Lana. (Not that Mia had been able to keep his attention for very long.) So now Lana was going to steal Nicholas from Mia.

She wasn't interested in keeping him. Of course, she wasn't. But he would make a great story to share at next year's sorority reunion.

Yes, tit for tat, her mother always liked to say. Speaking of…

She grabbed her perfume and spritzed a little extra along the dress's plunging neckline. Then she hoisted the girls, threw back her shoulders, and cocked her chin upward.

Hot? For sure. Hot enough to snag a prince?

For sure.

Michael Moscovitz

 _[Joe] Nice boy, a little aloof, but always treated the Queen with respect. Successful musician. His music is good - not too loud and screechy like a lot of the_ _shi-, er,_ _stuff you hear nowadays. Surprisingly, turned out to be a bit of a player, and not just at the piano, if you catch my drift._

 **[Lilly] My awesome brother who was nuts to ever let Mia get away. (No offense to you. Just proof that even awesome people can do stupid things.) And he is NOT a player. God, Joe, how could you put that where I would read it? That's just...ew.**

...

By all reasonable standards, Michael Moscovitz should own this night.

He was a rock star.

Okay, maybe rock star was a bit of a stretch. He certainly had no financial worries, and was solidly booked in major cities around the country. The venues were small, but popular, and he got a chance to connect intimately with the audience during the performance.

After the performance, there was almost always a chance to connect intimately with an audience member.

His relationships - well, encounters - were brief and mutually pleasant affairs that kept him company on the road. There were no princesses among them, just kind hearts and open minds and groovy energy, which was a good description of the only princess he had actually ever known.

So maybe not a rock star, but he was happy. Happy enough to balance out the soulful melancholy that infused his songs with just the right amount of angst. (Women loved a touch of angst, he had learned.) And he was giving a special performance at his high school's tenth reunion. Was he nervous? Sure. But not because tonight's audience included a queen.

He was nervous because tonight's audience included Mia Thermopolis. His sister's best friend. One of _his_ best friends.

The only woman with whom he'd ever had a real, heartfelt relationship.

He was nervous about seeing the only woman he'd ever almost loved.

He checked his reflection and pulled down a lock of his perfectly pommaded hair to just fashionably mar his trademark widow's peak.

Ten years and countless lovers, and he could still feel the way her fingers playfully tugged free that one lock of hair.

Melissa Roberts

 _[Joe] Fascinating young woman who once worked with Lilly. Willingly. And for free. Must be a saint. Has made tremendous strides in journalism. Definitely deserves better in the dating department._

 **[Lilly] Hardy har har. But yes, a super great person. I'm glad she's doing so well for herself. And that she's still a liberal.**

...

Melissa was inexplicably giddy about tonight. She'd never been one for giddy, but here she was, and for reasons she could not identify.

Calm, cool, and collected had been her life's motto and the reason she was already making a name for herself on National Public Radio. She had left behind high school without so much as a backward glance. She had places to go and she knew how to get there. She was level-headed and ambitious. Grace under fire - personified.

Tonight she was going to see crazy Lilly, with whom she had careened into journalism. "Shut Up and Listen" may have been a wacky little public access show that only reached an average of twelve people a week, but it was Melissa's first foray into the world in which she now made her home; and she loved every minute of it.

She was going to see Jeremiah, the show's resident economics advisor and filler magic act.

If she was going to see Lilly, she was undoubtedly going to see a queen. Those two were still joined at the hip.

Melissa's job was sophisticated and stressful. Her apartment was grown-up. Her on-again/off-again boyfriend was jaded and edgy. She usually filled what little spare time she had with friends who knew just enough about wine to be able to choose a good one, and who earned enough money to buy an expensive one.

For the first time in a long time, she wanted to get away from all of it and revisit her past. Just for tonight. She would be in the presence of royalty, a folk-rock fusion star, a foreign relations expert, and a financial wizard. If Melissa could ever be said to be giddy, such a line-up of potential interviews might be the cause.

She checked her elegant wardrobe selection and touched up her expertly applied make-up; then smiled to herself as she stocked her clutch bag with her fully charged smart phone and an old-fashioned notepad and paper.

Tonight she was going to get the one interview that had been years in the making. She was going to drink generically red wine, roll her eyes at annoying A-crowders, roll her eyes some more at Lilly's unflagging energy, and ask Queen Amelia of Genovia about her POS-itive o-PIN-ion of the SAVE the SEA OTTERS movement.

Tonight she was going to have fun.

Jeremiah Hart

 _[Joe] Another nice guy. Quiet, bright, respectable. A little eccentric, but as long as you don't mind card tricks, probably one of the more desirable choices to have as your neighbor at the dinner table._

 **[Lilly] He's fine. I mean, fine like: okay. Not like hot or anything. Not that he isn't. Wasn't. He really wasn't. He could have been. Not that I care about things like that. And fine like: he's probably doing okay for himself. I don't know that though. I don't keep in touch with him or keep tabs on him or ask Shades to check him out every so often.**

 **Disregard all of that. He's fine. You don't need to worry about this one. Nothing to see here. Move along.**

 _[Joe] I hear he's still single. (Ahem.)_

 **[Lilly] Single** _ **still**_ **, or single** _ **again**_ **? Like, was he divorced or -?** **Okay, you know what? Enough of Jeremiah Hart.**

...

Jeremiah couldn't resist. A tie with little pears on it? How could he not?

He surveyed his reflection. Not much had changed. He wore a blazer over his sweater vest. His hair was an almost sedate black (but look closely, and you could detect some blue and green highlights - another nod to his former classmate's heritage that he oddly hoped would impress her best friend more than the Queen herself). In his pocket, he had a handkerchief...tied to another handkerchief (which was tied to another handkerchief…). He had a couple gold coins in his trouser pocket. Lilly had always made snide comments about his Pull the Coin from Behind the Ear trick, but he thought deep down she loved it. Of course, she did. It was a classic, and classics never got old.

He had a pager on his belt and a phone turned to vibrate in the pocket inside his jacket. His clients wanted him to be connected at all times.

His kitchen cupboards were full of ramen noodles and Twinkies. His coat closet was stacked with fantasy board games and comic books. His bookshelves had tomes dedicated to economics, the stock market, and wowing people with magic tricks. His bank account had a crapload of money.

He glanced at his watch. In a few minutes, after checking his e-mail one more time, he would drive his sleek black BMW (that was sadly _not_ a Batmobile) to pick up his supermodel date. He didn't know her well, but when one of his colleagues had asked about his weekend plans (just to be polite; Jeremiah was pretty sure the guy had been surprised to hear he actually had some) and found he was going to his high school reunion, he assured him he could not go dateless; and would Jeremiah want him to set him up with this super fine goddess-like chick he knew…?

He wondered who Lilly would show up with. Probably some suave, sophisticated European guy who only ate plants and knew which species were most endangered. (Jeremiah had tried to be vegan once. It didn't last when he realized how integral vegetables were to the diet.)

So Jeremiah was going to arrive in style, looking pretty bad-ass and escorting a flashy, fancy redhead (who LOVED the coin trick, by the way). Yeah, everyone would say, "Hey, isn't that Jeremiah? Wow, that dude totally reinvented himself, right?"

He adjusted the knot of his pear tie, and was quite fine with the knowledge that he hadn't really changed at all.

Josh Bryant

 _[Joe] Do NOT. Get me started._

 **[Lilly] That little rat bast***** THIS PORTION OF THE DOCUMENT HAS BEEN REVIEWED AND CENSORED. *******

...

Josh tossed back the rest of his scotch and soda and headed off to the golf club locker room. He kept forgetting that tonight was the reunion, and now he was running late. Almost.

After a quick rinse in the shower, he stood in front of the mirror with a towel wrapped carelessly around his waist. He was almost running late because it was getting close to go time, but he really didn't need long to make...THIS...look good. He ran his hands through his hair so it would air dry in a carelessly cool fashion, and spent a little too long making goofy muscleman poses before getting dressed and heading to his pad in order to don his tux.

He'd heard Mia was going to be there tonight. Too bad she was married. It would be kind of awesome to say he'd kissed her when she was a princess and again when she was a queen. He wondered idly if Lana would be there. He saw her pic in the society pages every so often, and she was still looking remarkably okay. (Although there had _clearly_ been some work done in the boob department.) She had always been good for a fun time...until she got all serious and wasn't anymore. He shook his head as he swerved his bright red Ferrari around a curve at a No Turn On Red intersection, earning some honks that fell on deaf ears. Girls always had to make things complicated.

At least there would be booze there tonight. Sometimes, that's all you needed to simplify matters so everyone could relax and enjoy themselves, you know?

A real queen and a drama queen. Josh shifted gears, then shifted himself. His slacks were a little snug - too many liquid six packs forming a cushion underneath that muscular six pack - and were making him a little uncomfortable as he considered all the luscious possibilities the evening held.

Whatever (or whoever) went down tonight (he laughed out loud at his cleverness; was that what they referred to as a pun?), he had a feeling it would be a helluva good time.

 _to be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8

"I was certain you had mentioned lace for this evening."

"Hmm?"

He reached out to skim his fingers down the length of her hair. It was left loose and flowing, but he knew it was just as artfully arranged as when it was twisted up into elegant, complicated coils.

Her body relaxed when she felt his touch, yet at the same time, the contact sent a small charge into the air between them. Their relationship seemed to be a perfectly working paradox all the way down to its chemical foundations.

"So distracted this evening. Are you nervous?"

She turned from the window then, and blinked her eyes at him while she came back to the present moment - in a limousine on the way to her high school reunion.

"Not really. A little twinge-y, you know?"

"I do."

"Are you nervous?"

"No." He drew the word out slowly and thoughtfully. "I was, but now I am feeling strangely peaceful." He reached behind her to flirt with the edges of her hair, and couldn't resist pulling a strand forward over her shoulder. "Maybe this is the calm before the storm."

"You look unusually handsome."

"And you have an otherworldly glow about you." There was something there, something he was missing that she was mulling over. He wouldn't press, would wait for it to come to fruition. "Your gown is lovely, but it's not lacy."

"Lace is so last year," Mia teased. "But that's okay. A wise man reminded me recently that fashions always come back around."

"He does sound very wise. And he is probably very fashionable."

"Very. Anyway -" She leaned in to whisper so the driver and Shades couldn't hear. "- who said I'm not wearing lace?"

It wasn't easy to embarrass Nicholas, but his eyes widened slightly, his cheeks took on the barest hint of pink, and he swallowed nervously. Mia couldn't help a smug smile.

"You know." Nicholas cleared his throat. "We're in danger of being early."

Mia waved her hand dismissively. "A Queen is never early - wait. What?"

Now Nicholas, who had recovered quite nicely, was the one smirking and leaning in to whisper in his wife's ear. "What's say we have them drive up to some local lovers' lane, put up the privacy screen, and -" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "- try to be late?"

Mia gasped. "I have an even better idea!"

"Better? Oh, I'd like to hear that."

"Let's tell them to stop for ice cream."

"Stop for...ice cream?"

"Yes!"

"Ice cream."

"There's this great place I took Grandma to shortly after the first time we met - just Grandma, my Baby, and me; long story, don't ask Joe about it -"

"If it also involves corn dogs and the police, I don't have to. It's kind of a legend."

"- and I haven't been there in ages. I'm sure it's still there."

"I don't know. Is it good ice cream?"

" _So_ good. It's on the way. We can be like two regular people, going out for a regular ice cream date. How often does that opportunity come along?"

"Not very often."

"I would take you out myself, but Joe had Mustangs banned from the consulate."

"God, I wish I'd known you back then. We would have had a blast."

"If you had even seen me," she told him in a matter-of-fact way. "I had a slight invisibility problem back then."

"I would have seen you," he promised, and by the low tenor of his voice and the intensity of his gaze, she knew he meant it. Now it was her turn to swallow nervously.

"Shades?" she called.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"It seems we have a little extra time, and we thought we might stop for ice cream. You know that place by the arcade -?"

"I do," he assured her hastily. Clearly, he also knew the legend and preferred not to speak of it.

"Is it possible to swing in there before heading to the hotel?"

There was a quick, murmured conference through earpieces between two cars before Shades responded.

"Of course."

"Thanks, Shades."

She reached for the button that raised the partition.

"What's that for?" Nicholas asked. "Are we going with my idea, too? Because you know, I was only kidding."

"Were you?" she asked archly.

He shifted uncertainly. "I _was_ , but I mean…" He read the message loud and clear in her eyes, and in the way her lips strained against a smile. "Oh, right. I suppose that could make for an awkward situation."

"It could."

"My understanding is that the partition is soundproof, but we probably don't want to test that theory."

"I would prefer not to."

"And anyway, the ice cream will already put us slightly behind schedule. We don't want everyone else to be _too_ early."

"Nicholas," she breathed.

She was done mulling. She had come to a decision and her eyes were wide and open. He looked into them and saw her soul laid bare to him.

"Mia?"

Her chest rose with a deep breath and the welling of an unidentified emotion.

"We're already behind schedule."

He was a little confused, but some unrecognized truth was already tapping on his consciousness. "I don't think so. The reunion doesn't start until -"

"Nicholas. I mean, we're already late."

Joy. Sheer joy. That was the emotion surging through her. It spilled out now and found him where he was, frozen with his arm still turning his wristwatch toward him.

"Do you… Are you saying that we're… That _you're_ …?

Despite his barely audible whispering and inability to form a coherent sentence, she knew he understood; and she nodded.

Sometimes, a queen is _late_.

He nodded back slowly.

"Well?" she asked after a long minute; he hadn't said anything yet, but was still nodding. "I didn't want to tell you like this. I certainly didn't want to tell you on our way. I wasn't even going to tell _myself_. I've only known since right before we left. I was going to wait to do the test. And that's all it is - a test. No official pronouncement from the royal obstetrician. Lord, do you know how hard it is for a queen to discreetly obtain one of those things? Anyway, I couldn't wait, even though I didn't want heartbreaking news before the event, only I think somehow I _knew_. I wasn't afraid, Nicholas. Even if it was going to be a negative, I wasn't afraid. Because I was already happy. I'm so happy -"

She broke off as her joy turned to tears. Nicholas, who had only been watching her in awe, gathered her in his arms.

A queen should worry about running mascara and smudged lipstick and crinkled skirts, and a prince consort should be equally aware of those potential mishaps. But Mia cried with sputtering laughs, and Nicholas buried his head in her neck and wept, and neither of them gave a single thought to the fact that their clothing was not wrinkle resistant.

Luckily, Lilly was prepared.

When the entire motorcade pulled over so the Queen and her husband could get ice cream, Lilly slid into the backseat of their limousine before Shades had a chance to break the privacy bubble by opening the door and helping them out.

"I see you told him."

"You knew?" Nicholas asked.

"You knew?" Mia asked.

"I like ice cream and all, but you've been eating it in dangerous quantities since we got here," she explained, calmly opening Mia's makeup bag from the Red Carpet Emergency Kit that traveled with them everywhere. "When I heard we were _stopping_? For _ice cream_? On the way to the _reunion_?" She looked at them as if it was completely obvious. "Come on, it's not even good ice cream!" She peered more closely at Mia's face. "We might need to call for backup."

"Wait a minute." Nicholas's tone caused them both to turn to him. "Mia made it sound like this place had fantastic ice cream."

Lilly shook her head, resuming her assessment of the makeup situation. "Nah, she just likes their unique flavors: Taste of Freedom, Evasion of Security Swirl, Corndog Chaser." She pulled out a handkerchief. "First things first: blow."

"Those sound terrible. Mia, you know I'm an unapologetic snob when it comes to dairy."

Mia laughed. "Yes, you are. Which is why I think the baby already takes after me. Clearly, he is not."

He laughed, too, and it took a moment to realize Lilly was suddenly and uncharacteristically quiet.

"Lilly?" Nicholas asked out of bemused concern.

Mia watched her friend of too many years to count blink back tears of her own. "Oh, Lilly!"

"It just... I knew. Well, strongly suspected. But it really hit me just now. Dammit! We're all going to need fixing up!" Mia threw her arms around Lilly. "I'm just so happy for you both! And I'm going to be a fake aunt again!"

They did call for backup. Once they were all in control of their emotions, Lilly called for Brigitte, who had been riding in her car and had the rest of the emergency makeover supplies. She and Nicholas made their exit so Brigitte had room to work her magic.

They had almost forgotten they still made each other uncomfortable - hell, Lilly had almost pulled him into the hug in the back of the limo - but in the fresh air and natural light, it started to come back to them.

Nicholas shoved his hands very deliberately into his pockets - had _he_ been about to give _her_ a hug? Lilly wondered in amazement - smiled almost shyly, and ducked his head as he spun away from her on the pivot of an expensively shod heel.

Giving her space.

She was tired of space.

"Hey, Nick," she said softly. He looked up at her. "You're going to be an awesome dad again."

A slow, crooked grin spread across his face. "You're going to be an awesome aunt again. Not a fake aunt, by the way. There isn't a fake bone in your body."

Her chin quivered. "Damn you, don't make me start crying again. I almost like you."

He put his hands up. "Sorry! It was an accident."

"I know it was." She smiled from her dimples all the way to the corners of her eyes. The breeze played with her hair, and the not-quite-evening sun made her already sparkly skin glow.

"Wow," he said simply. "Jeremiah is toast."

She laughed. He laughed. They both laughed together, just the two of them, absolving themselves and each other of guilt once and for all. It was a long time coming.

And it felt good.

-0-

The Queen of Genovia and her Prince Consort stood at the entrance to hotel's grand ballroom.

She did not wear lace. Not visibly, anyway. The top part of her dress was ivory satin with short sleeves and a scooped neck. The full skirt flared slightly down to the floor, green with a bold, off-white floral print reminiscent of pear blossoms. She was wearing heels that would have landed her in the hospital in her younger years.

Her husband was next to her, his hand over hers that was tucked into the crook of his arm. He was devastatingly handsome. As usual.

Her eyes steadily swept the room before her. His eyes were on her.

They were together in every way - friends, lovers, parents, partners - and there was no creature on earth that would put them asunder.

Lana looked and saw only a challenge.

Michael looked and saw only Mia.

Josh looked at them over the rim of his second (since he got there) glass of scotch.

Somewhere, a truck carrying livestock from Moffitt's Chicken Farm hurtled through the night toward an unforgettable destiny.

 _to be continued (I promise!)_


End file.
